


The One When Louis Finds Out

by resurrectdead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Banter, Fluff and Crack, Friends AU, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lost Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Old Friends, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, it’s basically just the first episode that’s ripped off, louis is post-divorce depressed and harry is a runaway groom, no cheating between our fools in love, you don’t have to have watched friends to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: But this, making Harry smile even when he’s so close to tears, when Louis knows he just, too, lost everything he had; this must be truly living.or: The one when Louis is kind of Ross and Harry is kind of Rachel. Harry, the runaway groom, moves in with Liam, who's a great host. Niall lives across the hall, Zayn is very seductive, and Louis is suddenly reminded of the young love he lost a decade ago.(You don’t have to have seen Friends to read/understand this.)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 81





	1. The One With the End for a Start

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a month short of being a whole year ago!! Originally meant to only be a nice little one-shot based on the very first episode of Friends, I derailed. And here it is. (Also the title is based on the very LAST episode of the first season because Rachel and Ross are very COMPLICATED and so are these fools.)
> 
> Also my intention was that you wouldn’t have to have watched Friends to read this and you can just take it as a crazy AU. 
> 
> Someone play me & you together song by the 1975 because it gets stuck in my head whenever I think about this fic

Louis is 27 years old when he finds out the way he thought he’s going to end his days (to pass on, to throw in the towel, to - you know - _die)_ has abruptly changed forever. 

For starters, to do so _painfully_ is now one aspect of the grand departure, but he may have already known that one. (Chain smoking doesn’t do much to prevent such risk factors, to be fair, so like, something dramatically sad is pretty inevitable, unfortunately. His explosive personality only deserves to go out with a bang, he thinks, rather proudly.)

Secondly, he knows now he’ll pop off _alone_ , which was quite the unexpected addition. The new one he wasn't counting on. See, Louis had his life planned out already. He was in fact _not_ planning on the _alone_ thing being part of his dire end. 

He was married, after all. 

Well, that is, until…

Until, three weeks ago, or so. Not that the papers are quite through yet, but the last cardboard box of his husband’s stuff has at least left his house today. 

Well. You know. _Ex_ husband. He might just want to start teaching himself to say that now. 

”And,” Niall says around a mouthful of a muffin, licking a crumb off his thumb, ”you had no idea he was _straight_?”

Wow. Life is having quite a laugh at him. Louis kind of has to miserably laugh at himself too, because _wow_.

See, yeah, sexual orientation, it’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Can be quite fluent, or so he’s come to learn, at least when you add in _cheater_ in the mix. Your husband of eight years who you thought you knew everything about can, in fact, turn around and say hey, actually, maybe I was never quite as into men as I initially - and repeatedly thereafter - told you. Also that girl Emma at work is pretty fit, so, mind if I do…?

_God, oh god, oh god._

”If you’d just think for a second,” Zayn starts at Niall, now cradling his coffe cup in a way that should make you worry for his expensive, white shirt, ”you might realise he’d have liked to call it _bisexual_. Or _pan_. Or just- _not straight_.” Tasteful eyeroll. Zayn is himself, as Louis always knew him, chaotically bi. He leans back into the creaky café sofa and looks over at Louis. ”No matter. He’s a proper dick anyway.”

”Too much of a dick to want another,” Niall agrees behind the cup, and Zayn very visibly fights another eyeroll. (Louis does adore him.)

”Guys,” Liam chimes in, looks between them all. ”Chill.” 

Enough said, there, really. Well spoken words. Zayn grabs his napkin and starts doodling something intricate, with a black ink pencil produced from Niall’s breast pocket without a word of complaint; Niall just shrugs. 

Liam leans closer to Louis, such kindness in his puppy-like eyes. Louis almost wants to burst out crying just experiencing it, just any form of softness or kindness in his current state when the world just seems so rough. ”You alright?”

Louis nods. But it all kind of just makes him feel like the tiniest speck of dirt ever, though, because he’s usually quite a bit more dapper than this and could easily snap a comeback, or sassy retort, or a massive eyeroll of his own. Used to it, really, and then he goes wondering, when he’ll ever be the same again?

He should probably start by not thinking so much about death and dying, for starters. Or his divorce. Or that he’s alone, and alone, and all a-fucking-lone.

”Fine”, he croaks.

The last light has truly flickered out of him, huh. Fun. Should he be composing his will and obituary right now (who would do it for him? Not a _husband)_ , or should he be a bit more positive, and start on it, perhaps... tomorrow?

Also, he’s currently torn between wanting to side with Niall in his heckling, and to defend Michael, aka the infamous ex husband, a name he used to speak with such fondness and now doesn't want to hear at all or he might just flinch. Because like, they were together for eight years, right? It’s a long time you spend in fact siding with the person (defending him to your parents and friends, for starters; all claiming from the start maybe he’s not _The One_ , the one destined to him for life, until they eventually got used to it). It’s eight years of expecting the same in return. 

He listens to the smattering of March rain on the window to the small café, and it reminds him of the turmoil of this morning. Like when Michael was carrying his last box out of their once shared house, that big old thing where they decided they'd grow old together; his very last box of belongings filled with acrylic paint tubes and forgotten shirts and two picture frames no longer holding pictures of them together. And he was struggling to open the door while still holding his umbrella, and Louis had still rushed to help him, still. Still, he wanted to do everything for him to be comfortable and happy. Like they promised in their vows. 

And Michael had snarled at him, something like _don’t even try to make me change my mind_ , even though Louis did not in fact act on the urge to pull him back by his ugliest dad-cardigan, did not steal his box to make him realise what a horrid mistake he was making. 

Did not tip the art supplies he knew fuck-all about out on the pavement to let it paint a wayward rainbow right down the fucking sewer. 

Louis had, instead, _in fact_ , acted on the urge to just stare at him while the rain whipped on down, before he said something petty like _'oh, sorry, did my back hurt your knife just now?'_

(Filled so very much with the hidden meaning of _please, please, please just come back to me.)_

”We have to find him a date,” Liam says to the rest of them, when it’s been silent too long and Louis realises he’s just been miserably staring at the table. He does that a lot. It's grossly depressing. He gets a pat on the knee and meets Liam’s well-meaning eyes instead, which is remarkably nicer to look upon. ”How’s that, man?”

How it is? How _isn’t_ it? How isn’t, like, Louis’ heart bursting out of his chest, in two pieces? Because, oh my god. He loved him. He loved him, and he loved him for eight years, and- _and—_

And maybe he just loved _being_ with someone. Maybe, he just, loved the idea of knowing his life was planned out. That whatever he did, he was going to have someone to come home to, who would support him through shitty choices, tell him to get home safe, eat breakfast opposite him in a now far too quiet house, far too empty, echoing and just feeling haunted with old memories he rather wants to forget. Maybe he loved knowing he was _not_ going to die, firstly, painfully and secondly, alone. 

”I don’t want to date,” Louis says, still miserable. And it’s shit to be so bloody miserable. He sees Zayn and Liam exchange sad glances, which makes him _even more miserable_. 

”No?” Niall prompts, befuddled. 

”I just-” Louis sighs, shifts. ”I just want to be _married_ again.”

Like clockwork, the door to the café opens. Louis doesn’t care at first (staring at the table again), but as they turn around, one after the other, Louis searches for what the fuss is all about under the small, jingling bell above the door frame. 

And a man is walking in with distressed steps, water dripping from his jacket. And, _okay_ , he’s dressed from head to toe like a magazine spread of a beautiful white wedding groom. 

Well, perhaps, the long rain-wet hair isn’t particularly much like a groom — not in its current state, anyway, but one could easily let that slide. (And it is very long hair, that. Very innocently curling at the temples and oh, everywhere in fact, in different shapes and sizes, corkscrews or just a proper mess.)

Liam immediately shoots up from his seat, eyes wide. There’s somehow both surprise mixed with joy when he yelps: _”Harry?!”_

The man's eyes light up, even though there’s still something panicked behind them, cheeks flushed dark pink from the rain. And Louis realises then, _he recognizes him as well_. Louis’ stomach rapidly twists.

Behind the curly, soaked locks and drenched white facade, that’s a face he’s seen a hundred times before, and a name he’s thought of for one reason or another. Maybe you can call it, one he tried very hard to forget. 

”Oh,” the young man cries, walking quickly with open arms to Liam, ”you’re here! Thank fucking _god_ you’re really here.” 

Louis studies them closely as they hug, as does everyone else around their table, and maybe even more people from inside the café. They’re just a whole fuckload of question marks staring at them from their sofas and armchairs alike. When they finally pull apart, Louis sees it’s really not only rain making delicate tendrils roll down Harry’s blushy cheeks. 

”What the hell happened to you?” Liam asks, bewildered, still squeezing Harry’s arms as he seems to be pressing back a grimace. 

”I’ll explain, I swear,” Harry promises, voice still breathless like maybe he ran for a bit to get here, eyes glassed over like he’s been crying for quite some time. ”I just- um.”

”Oh, jesus, of course. Here, sit, sit.” Liam steers Harry off and he raises his voice. ”Everybody, hey, this is Harry. Another Manchester College survivor.” He gestures to the rest of them gathered around the small coffee table and, despite it all, Harry immediately cracks a polite but seemingly very genuine smile, even though his brow stays a little furrowed with tears still threatening to fall. He reaches for Zayn who sits closest and shakes his hand. ”Zayn, this is Harry. Harry, this is Zayn”, Liam explains to them both.

”Charmed,” Zayn replies with a face that’s equally concerned and amused as rain drips in front of his lap, nearly missing the leg of his striped trousers. 

Liam gestures further. ”And you have to remember Louis.”

They meet eyes then, and the funniest thing happens. Louis’ stomach flutters. 

Well, maybe it’s not _that_ funny, but kind of like. Awful. Real fucking terrible. ( _He is so very miserable._ )

See, a secret Louis never wanted anybody to know, is that back in college, Harry was Louis’ biggest unrequited crush. Yeah. Yeah, it’s a very _hilariously tragic_ story for all ages to enjoy. 

”Hey,” Louis greets, not sure if it’s audible. Not that the rain is all that loud. He just kinda feels like the air has been punched out of his stomach. 

”Oh, hi,” Harry replies kindly, a distressed tone still in that sweet voice. ”Louis! It’s been so long.”

And see, back in college, back when Louis and Liam went there together and were already best mates, Louis was a year older and never had any classes with Harry. They took different majors anyway. So you can just call it he never had any _chances_ either. But having been close with Liam since they were only a good five and six years old, and Liam also becoming one of Harry’s best friends back in the last year of Secondary school, it was easy enough to find excuses to talk to the sweet boy with the cherub face. 

To sit with them on breaks. Push him on the swings or pretend he knew fuck-all about his geography homework. Kick each other’s feet under the table when Harry came to Liam’s house and they both stayed for dinner, then to let him beat his ass at Mario Kart just to see him smile as big as he did.

The only thing missing was, through all his lovey-dovey and help-me-god... to ask him out. Like, actually, on a date. Louis kind of graduated before he had the guts to do more than ask him to lunch in the cafeteria. 

And of course, there was Michael. There was always Michael. (And ten years later, there is no more Michael. Although, it seems, here is still... _Harry_.)

Thing is, Liam knew about this. Liam still knows. Liam knows Louis knows Liam knows, and Louis can tell, because Liam is giving him a _ridiculous_ face right now, and Louis just wants to _evaporate_ with the rain. Be fog on the window. Someone could draw a happy smiley face on him. That would help, he’s sure. Maybe if he just sits here and keeps imagining it, it might actually happen.

”Yeah,” Louis grunts, because it _has_ been long. He can’t remember the last time they even texted, because he found no excuse to talk to him shortly after graduating, without sounding like a total creep. He felt like enough of a creep even in college when you've also got the raging hormones and never-been-kissed to take into accountability. 

Louis sits back down after shaking Harry’s rain-cold hand, leans back far into the sofa cushions when Harry reaches for Niall beside him, and tries very hard to not smell his cologne too obviously, or stare at where his jacket falls open. He might look crazy in the act of doing anything _but_. 

”This is Niall,” Liam introduces as Niall stands up a bit to take his hand. ”Niall lives-”

”Niall can _speak_ ,” Niall interrupts and takes Harry’s hand. ”Thanks very much. Hey. I’m Liam’s neighbour.”

”Oh,” Harry acknowledges, eyes big with wonder. 

”Live right across the hall,” he confirms, and Harry stands back up and shuffles back to stand by Liam. ”Uh, don’t mind if I do, man— but what’s with this outfit?”

Harry looks about as ready to burst out crying as Louis currently feels. ”Oh, yeah.” He sinks down on the sofa, just barely missing Zayn’s lap (and now Louis just kind of wishes it was his; yes he’s currently screaming internally). ”Fuck. I mean, um. Alright. Well.” 

But he stops himself with a heart-wrenching sob. 

Niall raises his eyebrows, looking taken aback. Liam sinks down in the arm chair opposite Harry and puts a reassuring hand on Harry’s knee (and Louis _fully, deeply, madly_ wishes it was his). 

”Okay, so,” Harry starts over, braver when his hand links with Liam’s supportive one. He takes a sobering breath. ”I walked out on Alex.” He sniffs, and Louis feels a pang in his heart. ”I couldn’t do it. I just, I couldn’t _marry_ him.”

Liam is silent for just a moment while the rest stare at them. ”And, _what?_ You realised that at the _altar?_ ” he exclaims in disbelief. 

But he keeps Harry’s hand in his as Harry covers his face with the other, furiously wiping tears. He looks crestfallen at best. 

Niall gaze flickers between all of them. ”I’m sorry, but, is that-?”

”It was his fiancé,” Louis hears himself speak, feeling far away. He’s so shocked by the whole thing, yet he knows the story so well. 

He didn’t even hear this first-hand. Liam at least kept in slight contact with Harry, could keep track online if nothing came up to make them reach out. Louis lapped up the information with the most casual expression, because it was none of his business. It was just catching up with old friends, after Louis had repressed every single ounce of emotions he should never have been feeling for Harry and put them all for his husband.

Liam nods at him quickly before turning back to Harry. ”Well, my god! You’ve been together for, what now?”

”Two years.” Harry nods. ”Well, it doesn’t even matter now, does it? I’ve… messed it all up. Oh, fucking, fuck.”

There’s a brief silence then. A not necessarily uncomfortable one, per se, at least not in the sense of being uncomfortable because of a stranger crying and soaking up the sofa with his clothes. Well, kind of; the stranger part is sort of the problem. From what Louis can tell, they’re all feeling with him, but since they have no idea who he really is - Louis isn’t sure he knows _himself_ after ten whole years - nobody knows how to act. 

Liam’s face softens a little, and that’s a good start, at least. He opens his arms for Harry. ”Ah, man. It’s okay.”

”Oh no, no, I’m fine, yeah,” Harry assures, but he still gently places himself in Liam’s embrace. He’s not fine, so far from it, shaking and wiping tears still rolling. ”Just a bit, like, overwhelmed, is all.”

”We get a lot of that here,” Niall pipes in suddenly, crossing his legs in the vermilion trousers. 

He looks at Louis, but Louis fixes him with a glare, and doesn’t elaborate. He can do without another one of his own sob stories. He can tell him about it later, when tears aren’t welling up those green eyes that should be only happy. 

Niall takes a hint and doesn’t elaborate either. ”Well. We’re a pretty sorry bunch here, I say, so no need to feel embarrassed or anything. You just let it all out, you know. We’ll be here.” 

”Same,” Zayn agrees, nodding. “I’m very sorry this has happened to you.”

Harry smiles at both of them. ”Thanks, you guys. Thank you. I’m so glad I found you.” He leans back into sitting and looks at Liam. ”So thankful like, that I even knew how to. I remembered this place, since you talked about it before.”

”Yeah, my god, me too. You’ve ended up at just the right place.”

Niall looks around them all, studying Harry like an alien just having crashed his spaceship. ”Well what a chipper bunch we are. Always gotta have a little sunshine after rain, don’t we?”

”Would sure be nice with some sun right about now,” Harry whines at the current state of weather and smiles valiantly at Niall. 

Harry looks so beautiful smiling, brightly so, despite the weather that mismatches this little spark of light. Then Louis makes the mistake of actually seeing the effect the rain had on his clothing. So, now Louis knows the real reason he’s going to die, and it starts with _H_ and ends with _arry’s tight, sheer, white, ruffled shirt_. 

Immediately he shrugs his hoodie off and holds it out for Harry. ”You look about half frozen,” he tells him as an answer to his wide eyes. He nudges it closer until Harry takes it. 

”Oh, thank you very much,” Harry smiles and wraps the grey hoodie around his shoulders. ”God, yeah. That feels much better.”

”I can get you a hot cocoa,” Liam tells him. ”Coffee? Tea?” 

”Tea would be nice,” says Harry. ”Thank you very much. Thank you _all_ for this.”

”It’s no problem, man,” Niall assures him. “You’ve had a pretty rough day, I can gather.”

“Better get some rest, too, so just allow me.” Liam gets up and straightens out his trousers, blotted with dark spots from the rain trickling from Harry’s shivering body. ”Somebody want to join?”

”Oh yeah”, Zayn yawns and gets up too, ”anybody fancy anything?” 

”Can I have a refill?” Niall asks, reaching out his cup for him. 

”Okay, _bro_ ,” Zayn fixes him a meaning look and a blocking hand, ”I was just being polite.”

Niall stops, blinks, looks at Louis, at Harry, then back at Zayn. ”I mean- _yes_ , of course, I so kindly volunteer to help escort you both. And, my cup. No problem.”

Louis dearly _hopes_ Harry understands they're joking, that they actually _are_ friends. Thankfully, he smiles faintly. Niall rounds his chair and Zayn flawlessly maneuvers himself around Harry’s still-shaking legs - rattling, maybe, more like - and they all walk up to the barista to order. 

And it's all real fucking fitting they all just had to go at the same time, that is. Louis isn’t even sure if Liam sent a telekinesis message or they all just didn’t want to be alone with the drip-drip-dripping stranger. 

Louis smooths his palms over his thighs, watching over Harry as he warms his hands between his own. Both of which must also be cold too, however glorious, however perfectly fitting into them white trousers. So it’s not a very good technique and Louis would very much like to take his hands into his own. 

”I just divorced my husband,” he speaks into the air. 

One of Harry’s cold hands instantly comes clasped over mouth. ”No!” he gasps. ” _Michael?_ ”

Louis nods. He’s not sure if he’s stealing some sort of spotlight or if this is a good thing to share, to let Harry know he’s not alone. There’s no protocol for speaking to your old unrequited love. Nor for announcing divorce, which culminated three whole weeks ago, but whatever.

”I mean, it was going on, for a while really. I’m not too shocked or anything like that anymore. I guess, I’m alive. I’m living. I mean-” He fake-checks his pulse with two fingers on his wrist. Bobs his head from side to side. ”Yeah, alive.” 

Harry smiles, a much more actually gleeful one he hasn’t seen in a very long time. It’s a perfect smile, really. One he missed so copiously.

”So, I just had to say that”, he continues, because he has to say something. “Maybe I shouldn’t say like, that I know what you’re going through, because nobody but you can get that. But I do have some sort of, teeny, tiny, _hunch_ about it.”

Harry tilts his head, smiling gently. He looks sympathetic and sweet, and Louis’ heart swells, bursts. ”Well, thank you, for telling me. And I’m very sorry for you too.” He tilts it the other way. ”I guess uh, we’re both losers now?"

Louis snorts, at best. He looks away and hopes the heat creeping up his neck doesn’t show in his face. ”That’s right. Not too chummed but I guess, we’ll put on _I Will Survive_ and get on with it.”

”Get on with the surviving?”

”I can check your pulse everyday to be sure”, he says as he looks back on him confidently. “I’m _very_ talented at it.”

In another world, in another lifetime, Louis’ favourite pastime was making Harry smile. When he popped little buck-teeth and dimples, when he threw a curly head of hair back and laughed. He almost forgot how good it felt, just knowing he’s happy. 

Having a pulse isn’t really living. It’s being alive, but not living. But this, making Harry smile even when he’s so close to tears, when Louis knows he just, too, lost everything he had; _this_ must be truly living. 

“I’m sure you can convince me,” Harry assures him good-naturedly, and Louis is utterly fake-scandalised with a hand on his chest.

”Well, Harold,” he starts as Harry just grins, ”I’m simply _aghast_.”

And Harry’s smile is like a sunrise. 

”Here we are,” Liam sing-songs then, putting down a steaming cup of tea in front of Harry on the table. 

Harry keeps his eyes locked on Louis for a few more fleeting moments, Louis’ heart stuttering, before he flashes a thankful smile at Liam, grabs his cup and begins to warm his hands with that instead. He basically purrs as he soaks up the heat. 

All Louis knows is, it will be a very long night. 

It’s not a long night in a bad way. Actually, it’s one when you wish it would never end, could be mourning the time it will in advance and wonder when you’ll ever be so happy again, but you’re far too preoccupied with being happy right in the moment, right where it all matters. 

Yeah. One of those. 

Louis can’t remember the last time he laughed until he fell backwards. Might it be the wine (damn Liam’s taste in red), but Louis knows he never had a night at home with Michael quite like this. Whether they cracked a can or popped a bottle, whether they brought out the Playstation or the Never Have I Ever deck of cards. 

And at least he lands on the sofa. He can fall backwards as many times as he damn well pleases, and he thinks he might just do that, coffee table full of snacks raided from Niall’s cupboard, stereo hooked up with Zayn’s phone and playing Louis’ pick of The Libertines.

_”An end seems fitting for the start…"_ , they sing, to which Louis couldn't agree more. 

And Harry’s smiling back at him just as bright. And they all have so much to share, well, Niall and Zayn nonetheless, having never even _met_ the lad. Job, family, interests, favourite music and favourite books and if you could eat one food for the rest of your life what would it be? But Harry especially, now changed out of his soaked groom outfit into Liam’s too big t-shirt and pyjama pants, still donning Louis’ hoodie. Looking so adorable Louis is hardcore struggling to look away. 

”There is _just_ ”, Niall starts, ”no fucking _way_ ,” he looks bewildered, ”you walked away from a _doctor_.”

”I did,” Harry shrugs. His spirit is light, despite it all, as everyone else’s is. ”You know, for being a doctor, he was really terrible at like, _people_.”

”Sex?” Zayn asks casually, taking his tall glass from table to swirl its contents around. Zayn changes his mate about as often as he changes his sheets; this is a completely on-brand conversation for him to be having, to be fair. 

”You don’t think a guy knows how to work his own anatomy?” Niall retorts with a furrowed brow. ”Hopefully he’s got a few years of practice on that, being a _doctor._ ”

Zayn leans forward, smirking. ”So you’re saying you could get another guy off?”

Louis’ holding in the laughter. Especially at how Niall evidently appears to be blushing. ”Well. Maybe I _could_. Not necessarily saying that I _would_.”

”Don’t rule anything out,” Liam comments, shifting closer yet to Zayn. 

”Don’t knock it ’til you tried it,” says Harry. 

The laughter escapes. Niall smiles around the room sheepishly, shrugging all the same. ”That’s a pretty fair life motto, if I’m honest.”

”Brilliant, innit?” Louis has to agree in a croak. 

”Most likely to be held against you,” Liam adds, patting Niall on the shoulder once. 

Niall laughs. ”As some other things will too, I’m sure,” he adds unabashedly. 

They laugh again, because, dick jokes. Louis will remind him to make it his new year's resolution. Not to push his gay agenda, but you know, from his personal - and therefore professional and trustworthy - experience, it _is_ pretty grand. 

”Well then, I’m still curious,” Zayn continues to Harry, tucking a strand of dark hair behind his ear, dyed a stark green at its lengths, ”what was it? Not a conversationalist?”

”Uh, well, _that_. And, actually.” Harry pauses, studies his emptying glass. ”I think, it was just always subconscious, to make my parents happy? That I would just marry someone respectable. Rich,” he adds as an afterthought. ”But, incompatible. I mean. He didn’t even know of The Rolling Stones.” 

Niall boos loudly in disgust, a contempt to match the look on all their faces. Harry has to smile, despite his surprise. 

” _Right?_ ”

”Dumped,” Zayn jeers in agreement.

”Over it,” Louis agrees just as well. Because, _honestly?_

”Wow,” Liam chimes in, concern etched on his face. ”How’s your dad feeling about this? Have you talked?”

Ah, shit, that's true. Mr. Styles, a well-respected (albeit, for Louis, very scary and intimidating) man, always had been very particular about his image. Although Harry had always been able to produce the money needed for snacks and lunch all thanks to him, even movie tickets for him and Liam and on some occasions even Louis, brand new shoes when Louis forever wore secondhand and hand-me-downs… it seemed to often come at a price of being unhappy with other certain life choices. Like an university far from the distractions that were Liam and Louis. An education he didn’t care for. 

”Mad, by the look of him I caught.” Harry rubs his eyes sleepily, a hint of the desperation, still, trying to escape. ”I mean, he paid for it too, so. And now he’s kindly letting me know with like really badly punctuated texts what a disgrace it was, that I walked out of my own ceremony.”

”No way?” Liam says as Niall snorts a laugh. 

Harry shrugs. ”I kindly continue to not reply to him.” Niall full-on laughs at that, Louis and Zayn joining in with snickering. ”Well, what does it matter now? It’s over.”

”Done and dusted,” Zayn confirms. ”For the better, innit?”

”As long as you’re happy,” Niall agrees, looking around for confirmation, getting nods from them all in turn.

”I am, yeah. Yeah.” A big smile grows on Harry, steady and sure. ”I think, honestly, I’ve had more fun tonight than I’ve had in the past, like. _Month_.”

”I was just thinking that,” Louis says suddenly, sounding a little too breathless. Heads turn to him. ”Well, you know, with _you_ lot I have, of course. Just thinking,” turning to Harry, mumbling a little, regretting it, ”about my ex, you know. We never had fun shit like this going. We were depressing as fuck, towards the end.”

”Well, you shouldn’t think about him no more, I say,” Niall concludes. He pats Harry’s shoulder. ”You’re both free men. Let’s enjoy one less shitty man in our lives.”

”I’ll drink to that,” Zayn smirks, raising his glass. 

He clinks it with Niall, making him blush furiously again, followed by another fit of laughter. 

So, a lot happens in ten years. University. Tattoos. Jobs. Harry got a cat, Milton, grey with what he calls white booties and labelled as his only child, showing pictures for them from his phone. He got a boyfriend, too, but, then they got engaged, and the rest Louis already knows; the rest is history. 

Louis’ relationship story wasn’t far off when summarized, well, except his dad decided he’s a disgrace as soon as he came out at 18 instead of when he gave up on his wedding. Shortly after he did, Louis got engaged (it was a Thursday, after uni, a random café, Louis was overlooking the sea and laughing at seagulls in his exhaustion from realising how fucking hard it is to be or become a teacher, and when he looked back…), got married (an evergreen park, sunset coming through the trees, he was so happy), got divorced (it still hurts). 

So many things changed, and yet the people stayed the same. 

They talk and talk until Louis looks out the window and realises the rain has finally stopped. That’s when Niall and Zayn decide to call it a night and leave Liam’s apartment; not together, _weep_. Like, although Niall has kindly offered to drive him home before, despite having no reason to get in his car at all when he lives three steps away across the hall from Liam, _now_ is apparently not the time to start _even more_ rumours about his romantic preferences, go fucking figure, and Louis shall _never_ stop pestering him about that brilliant new year's resolution idea he got tonight, thanks very much. 

It’s way past midnight by then anyway, candles burned down, wine emptied. Cheeks flushed, minds blank. But happy. Louis genuinely feels something else than agonizing misery for once, can you believe it? 

As Liam has already set up sheets for Harry to stay on the sofa (”At least for the night, it’s the least I could do”, stuff like that), Louis takes it upon himself to analyze that they seem to have all taken Harry under their wings. 

They’re like an odd gaggle of thieves, anyway. Niall - part time realtor in fancy and sometimes pastel suits, full time avid dessert-consumer - Louis has known since the day he moved in opposite Liam a total of five years ago, lowkey rich bachelor wanting a chill life. That was a boring story. The simpler one. Zayn, he thinks, he may have first met him when Zayn, a badass uncle, showed up to pick up his little niece on a _motorcycle_ when she threw up in Louis’ office at the school that on time. Zayn was, and is, other than chaotically bi, an experienced traveller, a wine connoisseur, ex-homeless and sofa-surfer and possibly ex-exotic dancer (from what Louis had been able to tell on a few drunk occasions), currently a tattoo artist with his own studio and one of the coolest people Louis knows. He also thinks they met the second time when Louis caught him sucking Liam off under the kitchen table _(”Oh, hey, Teach.”)_. 

Might it be that Liam knew Harry from a past life, but even if he hadn’t, after all the introductions and re-introductions have been said and done he thinks the circumstances are just odd enough to not let Harry stay. And it’s clear to see, to Louis anyway, that Liam missed him just as well as Louis did. 

”Hey, do you remember when you used to sleep over at my house a bunch? It’s just like those times, isn’t it?”

Harry smiles timidly at Liam. “Except I’m not 16 and have a bowl cut anymore,” he says. “And noodle arms.”

Louis snorts, careful not to blow cookie crumbs all over the table, like a backwards vacuum if it would have been going underneath his own kitchen table.

“Well hey, everybody had noodle arms,” Liam reassures him contently.

“And I, as a matter of fact, liked your hair,” Louis states curtly to Harry’s mock surprise. “Yeah, what did you use in it? Angel dust and curly wurlies?”

Harry chortles as he nods. “That would be correct. Thank you for noticing.”

“That hair stayed for so long until you cut it”, Liam remembers, chuckling. 

”And what about you, Liam? You had like a proper fur hat going on there,” Louis taunts and throws a crisp at him when he tries to object. ”Finest imported alpaca hair, oh yeah, I’m sure. Or maybe a live chinchilla.”

Liam is simply too happy to be insulted. And Harry’s guffaw, well it’s just a gold star bonus. 

”Only the finest things,” Harry reasons through his smile, nodding.

”And what did your own look like, Lou?” asks Liam. 

Louis deadpans. ”I haven’t the foggiest.”

”I seem to remember-”

”Nah.”

”-it hasn’t changed at all.”

”Oh, you _wanker_.”

Liam barks a laugh (too happy to be insulted, _much)_ as Harry is trying to stifle his own. Louis grins looking between the two of them, totally innocent here, obviously? Besides, it’s not _entirely_ true. Louis uses hairspray significantly more professionally these days, making it a little more roughed up and, plausibly, _cool?_ Is he punk rock yet? Plus, it’s growing a little past regular length in the back, _plus_ he mostly pushes it up and back to be out of his face when he’s at work; yes, he’s a little bit offended.

”It was trendy to be emo at 16,” Harry informs Liam curtly. ”I appreciated it.”

”Thank you!” Louis exclaims. 

”I’ll choose not to believe it.” Liam looks to Harry again, points with his glass. “Do you remember how you were still so bothered by then, because you hadn’t been _kissed?_ Oh man, I’ve just remembered. That was funny.” 

After which Harry instantly stills, and Louis’ stomach twists. 

”Do you remember? And we tried to get some girl from Psychology to do it,” he continues, chuckling as he does. ”Because it was just a rip-the-plaster-off type thing, right? Get it over with. And then you had to tell me you didn’t fancy _the girls_ very much.”

Harry blinks at Liam with raised eyebrows. His beautifully plump lips are curled in a bit of a smile. “Well, now I surely do remember, Liam.” 

Louis feels second-hand-embarrassment, although maybe if he thinks about it, he might just be a bit embarrassed overall. 

Louis could have been 17 (or, turning, whatever; December kid problems) and been there to offer to let Harry practice his first kiss? Practice all the kisses. Making out on the sofa. More. And even more than that, _oh my god._

He’s suddenly acutely aware that, now after Liam’s laid out sheets and blankets for Harry to unfold, he’s basically sitting in Harry’s bed, here on the sofa. He probably shouldn’t be having unholy thoughts right now, on Harry’s holy sofa-turned-bed. 

Louis needs a cigarette. 

“I’m sorry, man, I’m just excited”, Liam beams, pushing Harry’s shoulder good-naturedly. “We used to talk so much. My mum even stopped asking if she was making dinner for you too, you know? She just assumed she _would_ be.”

Harry smiles, just as big, just as warm. The genuine positivity is everything Louis could have asked for right now. 

And, still, a nagging, _evil_ little _devil_ of a thought sits in the back of his mind, slamming the mental image of Harry’s wet lips after he would have kissed him hard for the first time, right into his consciousness, repeatedly. 

He was 17 and already pining for Harry. And Harry was just waiting for someone to kiss the awkwardness out of him. He honestly cannot believe his bad luck. He also cannot believe he’s suddenly confident enough to even daydream about kissing him now, for the sake of lost time. In this economy? Chill out, pal.

“I’m excited too”, Harry says to Liam, putting his hand on his arm. “I should be returning those dinners now. I’m not too shabby, anymore.”

“Can you make lasagna?”

Harry pats his arm agreeably. “All you could ever ask for.”

Liam’s eyes are big with excitement, with possibilities unfamiliar to Louis. ”Bake?” he asks and Harry nods. ”Like, uhh, maybe like _jaffa cakes?”_ Harry nods again. _”No way!”_

Harry smirks. ”What? Like it’s hard?”

Louis makes a move on trying to relocate himself to the armchair instead, because, you know, it’s kind of getting hot in here. But then Harry’s hand is on his thigh - _oh my god it’s on his thigh_ \- and he furrows his brow at him. “Oh, you’re not going home, are you?”

“Nah, I, uh-”

“We’re talking a lot I guess,” Liam fills in, looks from Harry back at Louis. “Sorry, man. What are you thinking?”

Louis staggers, ends up sitting back down. He fumbles for words and circles his hands a bit in the air for inspiration. “It’s just, like. I realised this is your _bed_ now? And I’m sitting on your _bed_.”

Louis definitely needs a cigarette. 

Harry furrows his brow more; a deep, thoughtful wrinkle between them. Louis loves that puzzled face a little more than he loves not having a racing heart, so it's okay, it's _fine_. 

He looks at Liam, for help; Liam is equally befuddled.

“Uh. Because I’ll sleep here, is what you mean?” Harry asks with an ever-growing grin. Chilling with his puzzlement for a second, to Louis’ great relief.

“Hey, I have absolutely no clue”, Louis blurts out with an easy shrug. The non-existent hand imprint of Harry burns, burns, burns. “I’m just throwing some spaghetti at the wall here, you know how it is.”

Liam pulls a face of utter confusion and raises his hands like _what_ , like he’s on reality TV and the camera just zoomed in on his face. “I believe it’s called throwing _caution_ to the _wind_?”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Louis shrugs, sinking back down into the sofa. “Spaghetti, spa-gat-oh.”

The hardest thing, Louis realises as the night passes, is that Harry doesn’t know just how much he means to him. 

In a way it would be easier - although mortifying - if he knew. If they could just get it over with, to rid Louis of the pain of anticipation. If maybe he’d just, ask him out, sometime. 

Right now? Should he do it, _now?_ It’s a simple thing, really, isn’t it? It’s a simple answer. Yes or no.

Or maybe that’s the wine talking. The effects of decade-old happiness undusted and put into light. 

”What are you thinking about?” Harry asks him then, gently bumps his foot into Louis’.

Liam has left to clean out bowls and glasses in the joint kitchen, clinking with cutlery and running some water. He’s a good host. Louis is a good guest for this good host, for he’s currently finishing the last pretzel for him. All for free, and all. Amazing deal. 

Louis studies said pretzel very elaborately in his hand. He thinks, yes. _Yes_ , he _totally_ can ask him out now. Or he can at least hint about it, I mean like Christ sake, poor lad just cancelled his wedding this very morning. But then again, Louis just got divorced. So. _So?_

”Just thinking,” Louis starts, feeling so stoic, and _then_ fear twists his gut. Shit. ”How many scones you can make us for breakfast.”

 _Shit._

Harry grins, the proud baker he is. Louis will tell himself it’s this grin that threw him off; he didn’t want it suddenly wiped off his face. 

”As many as you can eat,” Harry tells him, and Louis is already so very relieved he didn’t go through with the impulsive plan. Tonight is not the night. Not tonight. 

”Wow, really?” Louis says, impressed. ”I need to visit the Styles Café every morning, reckon. Maybe switch out the one from downstairs every once in a blue moon.”

Harry nods. ”That can be arranged.” 

And he steals the pretzel from between Louis’ fingers and pops it into his own mouth.

After he leaves that night, well after midnight, he smiles all the way home to his own very, very empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, I started writing this almost a whole year ago, and just, never finished. It reeeeally be like that. If you enjoyed, check out the next chapter~ You may also scream about Friends or these fools in the comments~~


	2. The One With the Instant Coffee

Louis never does ask him out. 

The moment never comes. Or like, moments _do_ come, but then they sort of just, _trot away._

Like, that time when Liam decided Harry should just move some of his stuff in and stay there, because he does have an office he doesn’t use on a daily anyway (because he's a handy dandy fireman dream man, as Louis somehow sometime called him, and he was maybe a _little bit_ intoxicated too), at least until he could get back on his feet. (He’s a divorced man now, they decided; or is he actually? And then an argument about whether he really can be considered such if he walked out of his own wedding, deciding that, no, but also, _yeah sure_ , because Louis needs a friend in this and he also agreed to flip off anyone who would like to argue further on the matter, goodbye.)

Louis had ended up helping Harry carry one of his very inconveniently heavy boxes up the five flights of stairs, and at one point just sort of walked in on Harry all _panting_ and _flushed_ and _beautiful_ and then Louis wanted to just go roll back down all the stairs, if he didn’t miraculously manage to immediately seduce him and make him his to cherish and adore and spoil forever. 

It’s painful, is what it is. Life loves having a laugh at him, it's established, it's law. 

But it's been his unattainable dream since teenage years, so who can really blame him? Weirdo police, maybe.

Something’s got to give. 

Harry’s just, a great _house guest_ , is all; he doesn’t leave wet towels out, doesn’t burn the toast and blame the toaster. And he's not even Louis’ _own_ house guest, mind you. But Louis’ own house is too big right now to be preferable to Liam’s apartment; too vacant to stand to be in all alone now that more than half his belongings have left it, seems only good for sleeping in, in silence and darkness or for contemplating the inevitability of death and things like that, like he used to do quite a lot. Which isn’t very nice. Plus, Liam is practically his brother, you know? Chosen family, all that. Maybe. 

Maybe he forgot about it (the torment, the pain, the heart palpitations of fondness) for a few years there along the line, but he doesn’t really know how he could have ever moved on, at this point. Doesn’t know how he ever supposedly forgot, especially now. 

Especially not when Harry’s panting and flushed and beautiful. Especially not when Louis’ over for morning coffee and Harry wakes up from the office-turned-makeshift-bedroom with beautifully sleep-ruffled hair and a too-big T-shirt hanging off his delicate collarbones. Not when he’s sat nested into the crook of the window pane reading dog-eared books and sipping steaming tea. And _definitely_ not when he’s cooking them all dinner and wiggling his hips to a song on the radio he doesn’t know the words to but still tries to sing along to because he just loves music and finding bright moments anywhere, with anything. 

He loves him.

Well, that’s easy. Harder to say.

Harder to actually ask him out.

It’s a Tuesday a good two weeks after Harry has moved into their lives when Louis’ phone buzzes as he walks out from school, not soon after his last class has departed themselves, as he decided to slip away from grading homeworks for once. It’s not unexpected to get a phone call at this time of day, as Liam usually checks if he wants takeaway, or maybe some of Harry’s extraordinarily good cuisine. (Home cooked meals are so wholesome, and although Harry can’t quite do a stir fry and sometimes doesn’t add enough spice for Louis’ personal liking, it’s the _experience_ of it all, of dangling his feet from the counter and laughing as he’s blocking Harry’s way to plates or pots or not at all dangerous knives, that makes it such a great pastime.)

The smile of the anticipation drains off his face when he checks his phone. A cold lump drops in his stomach. 

Deleted contact. He knows the digits. 

Hesitantly, he lifts it to his ear, where he stands stopped dead in his tracks on the stone path up to the front ports to the old building. He doesn’t say anything. Listens, although his mind feels somewhere distant. 

”Louis?” is what Michael, delightful ex husband and stealer of his belongings and happiness, says instead. Louis fights a shudder of disgust, the first one ever upon hearing his own name, mostly directed at the one uttering it. ”Are you there?”

He takes another moment, wonders if he can really give the silent treatment over the phone or if it will just make him hang up and call back; might ask if he’s in a tunnel, the idiot. ”Unfortunately.”

”My condolences,” he husks. Louis cringes. ”Let’s make it quick, then. Sorry for being so civil as to _call_.”

”Right, right. I’d say _no problem_ , but that would be sort of a reach.”

”Right! Well, I’ll be quick then," Michael says, and Louis tries to calm his breathing. "I’ve got a box of _shit_ here,” the sound of kicking a box, its contents stirring and clinking, ”so it seems I packed some of _your_ things when I left.”

Well, shit. Louis recalls trying to find his guitar, now nowhere to be found in the house after the storm Michael left behind. Like a hurricane, just leaving behind a broken home, broken people.

Thing is, when the only light that had entered his life in what, in hindsight, seemed to be a year-long stretch of darkness had turned out to be _Harry_... everything had changed. It was Harry, whom he had fought so hard to forget in favour of Michael. Harry, now a golden spark in the melancholy dark room. And when Harry came back, the love he thought he lost when Michael walked out of their home and slammed the door and left him in this darkness, had turned into utmost, vile _disgust_.

The world around him smells of the rain that’s passed over, just as well as it did the last time they spoke and he ripped himself away screaming at Louis's pain. He grits his teeth, grinding out the words. ”You sure it was on _accident?”_

”You think I planned to have you back to, what, murder you? I’m not in your will anymore, exactly. Seems futile if you ask me.”

Louis barks a humourless laugh, feels his mouth being dry. He stares down at his shoes. Dirty, scuffed. ”As does this conversation.”

”Alright,” Michael sighs, clearly bored, ”here’s what. A favour from me to you, yes? I’ll leave the box on the street, you can pick it up yourself. Don’t even have to see me. I think I’d like that too.”

Louis pinches his fingers over his nose and closes his eyes. ”You bitch. You live like 40 minutes away.”

Muddy grounds. His box of belongings crumbling, washing away. His guitar, stolen off the street.

”You keeping up? Yes, and that’s three subways for you. Maybe you’ll be home by dinner if you go now.” He seems to be sneering. Louis’ insides only feel colder, wringing up like a dying snake. That’s his fucking _guitar_. ”Only maybe,” Michael adds in a malicious sing-song.

Louis’ fists have clenched. He manages to check the time on his wristwatch, but well, what it means is an afternoon _completely_ fucked up. 

”Oh, Emma says hi,” Michael jeers. 

Louis hangs up without saying anything more and pockets his phone. It takes everything in him not to kick and scream. Maybe if he had a pillow. Maybe a well-sized rock to send flying across the lawn. Whatever. 

Despite it all, he starts a brisk walk towards the subway, head pounding with fury mixed with the adrenaline, red hot, might have lightning bolts flying from him. Well, at least it’s clear to say he’s very much over and done with that. With marriage. With idiots who have the nerve to be such self-righteous pricks, who can even stomach themselves afterwards; he can’t _fucking_ believe it. 

He sits down on the tube not even ten minutes later, heading for his ex husband’s new apartment with his new girl and new _stupid_ life. Thinking that Liam must be coming home from the shift at the fire brigade. Wondering what Harry is doing now. Contemplating how he could have spent his evening instead.

He turns his phone up as loud as it will go into his headphones as to drown out the metallic noise, the buzz of people’s conversations now quitting work and going home. Happy songs to counteract, a painkiller for a bitter, pounding headache he comes to realise is more than just symbolism creeping up the back of his neck and circling his skull like a particularly persistent demon. ( _”A sidewalk’s cracks, you step on my back; and you look away as the bones begin to crack...”_ )

Carrying his box of, apparently, _shit_ all the 40 minutes and three subway changes back, plus a few texts to Liam announcing he would indeed be late, the first thing he can say, after gently motioning the door of their apartment open with the toe of his sneaker as to not put the box of _shit_ down again, is: ” _God_ , I fucking _hate him_.”

He’s got his guitar over his shoulder too, dangerously dangling, digging a red welt into his shoulder. He’s tired and hungry and angry. He’s been mistreated and misused, and his insides are screaming at all the injustice he couldn’t even set right, or at least come up with a way to prank Michael’s door for; should have had some spray paint and let the neighbours know he's a pile of absolute cheating, emotionally abusive, lying _rubbish_. 

But Harry blinks at him from the other side of the door, and all stress seems to melt away. Well, a lot of it, anyway. 

”Who?” he quips. _”Me?”_

Despite himself, despite it _all_ , Louis simply has to smile. He shakes his head, making his way into the suddenly very narrow door frame while trying not to slam his guitar against anything. ”No,” he says gently. ”No, of course not you.”

_Of course, it could never be you, not like this._

He puts his box down with a heavy sigh and slings the guitar off and dumps it on the sofa. Stretching, he notices Liam at the table, fork of spaghetti stopped halfway to his open mouth. 

” _Me?_ ” he asks incredulously. 

Louis has to _laugh_. He makes his way over to the stove where pots are still up. ”No, Payno. Of course not you either. And not you, Zaynie,” he adds as he sees Zayn breaking apart a garlic baguette with a critical, raised eyebrow. He leans over the bolognese and takes a deep whiff. “Well _fuck me_ this smells amazing. Mind if I do?”

Liam gestures wildly. ”Leftovers for you.”

“Don’t have to fuck anyone for it either”, Zayn sneers. “I’m keeping the bread, though.”

“Fuck off,” Louis tells him good-naturedly, ladelling some up a mighty portion onto an empty plate.

”Lou,” Harry starts, stepping up behind him, ”what the hell happened? What’s with this?”

Louis is sort of wolfing down pasta now, shoulder throbbing and back in two mismatching pieces, so he takes a moment as all three of them look imploringly at him, a hand in front of his mouth, imploring of its own. 

”The prick I call ex-husband is what happened,” he says, as darkly as he can, now that he’s actually very happy to be dining on such nice food instead. ”Called me on a fucking whim he did, said he had a box of _shit_ of mine. It’s what he called it anyway. Just bits n’ bobs I forgot were even gone after he took half the house, seems to be CDs and stuff, so I think I can be the judge of that my-fucking-self.” Louis wipes at his mouth (without looking at them, suddenly shameful) and grabs a spare napkin, trying to look less like a feral animal. ”I’m sorry, I’m not swearing at you lot. I’ve just got a bad vocabulary.”

”We know,” Liam and Harry say at the same time, look at each other and chuckle. 

He smiles at them. Harry, he’s learned, wears a lot of ripped skinny jeans, a pair of which he’s donned for the evening. Mostly seem to own skinnies overall, with some occasional colourful bell-bottom trousers that don’t do enough to show off how beautifully muscular and thick his thighs are, although it makes him all the more quirky and adorable. But of course also the joggers, some so old and tattered in a way only Louis’ own could compare, which is a silly detail he loves to consider. With plain tees, band tees. So soft. 

”Thank you, by the way,” Louis says to the silence, nodding vigorously and pointing at his plate to emphasize, ”this is fucking delicious.” 

Harry smiles at this, sinking down in the chair opposite where he’s seated himself. ”Well, I’m glad.” He supports his elbows against the tabletop and rests his chin on top of his knuckles. Yes, Louis is knackered, and sort of in pain, but Harry looks way too gutted right now for his liking and it only makes his heart sink further. ”Was there anything else?”

Louis spins some spaghetti around on his fork. ”Well, he left it out in the rain. And the excursion took more than an hour to get there and back with several stops-” he pauses to look up at Harry, ”sorry I’m late. Thank you for saving me some.”

Liam looks a little sad. Harry does more. 

Louis finishes chewing while Zayn breaks off another piece of bread. ”Oh, man,” he says, finally. 

”Yeah.”

”Here.” He gives him the small slice of bread. 

Louis musters a sarcastic smile. ”My _deepest_ thanks.”

”How do you feel?” Liam asks instead of allowing Zayn to retort (because it would have been to allow a fight in, for them, unintelligible Yorkshire accents to commence). 

Louis considers it. He feels much better now, here, in a homely apartment with three of his greatest friends. The smell of warm bread, boiled water and pasta, so familiar to a type of comfort he loves. It's not just a house, it's a _home_.

He sighs, a sigh full of relief as he leans back in his chair, relishing in his favourite comfort. ”I’m better than I was,” he says, stabbing a meatball. ”I’ll be better than I am.”

”That’s the spirit,” Harry says enthusiastically. 

”I still hate him though.”

Instantly a crease on his forehead. He leans back and considers Louis. _”Hate_ is a strong word.”

 _Harry’s bloody hippie bullshit._ Silently, Louis loves it. If it’s not hilarious, it’s at least adorable. He has to grin, playing a game of footie on his plate now. The extra sauce-covered meatballs are winning now. The saucy ones. 

”And to that,” says Louis, ”I can only say, _detest_ is stronger. _Despise_ ,” he adds quickly when Harry seems ready to interject. And the second time: ”I _loathe_ him, Harold. And I loathe that he got to keep my guitar for this long.”

They simply look at each other. Louis pops another forkful into his mouth. 

”Well,” Harry says, and he chuckles. ”Fuck him, then.”

”Thank you,” Louis bursts out, throwing his arms wide. ” _That’s_ the spirit!”

”And fuck Alex,” Zayn supplies, to Louis’ maybe far-too-eager nodding. Louis fucking hates Harry’s ex too. 

”Wait, how did it go with that again?” Liam question suddenly, looking at Harry with alarm and concern. ”What did he do?”

”Uh, he _existed_ , Liam,” Louis says, obviously. ”We hate that about him.” Duh?

Liam swats him away. ”I’m not quite that dim, am I?” he questions Louis. 

”Well, it’s uh, a _particular_ thing.” Harry takes his hands down and rub them together, absent-mindedly or like a stress reliever. He shrugs a shoulder. ”About Milton. My cat,” he adds for Zayn’s confusion. ”And about that, Alex said, well. That he’ll _keep_ him.”

”No!” Louis yelps immediately. Not his _cat!_ Not the little grey one with white booties he calls his only _child!_

”Yeah,” Harry sighs, only a little startled by his screaming, mostly looking defeated about it all. He looks up at Liam. ”I guess, it’s like a custody battle, for now.”

”But the landlord said it’s fine!” Liam interjects, looking nothing short of crestfallen. ”He can live here for as long as he wants, I told you!”

”But then, Alex claims he has a better, bigger house with a garden for him too, to play in. I can’t really argue with that.” Harry sulks. ”Not that this is so small, you know. But. It's not your responsibility. And I’m homeless and I'm jobless.”

”A homo hobo,” Zayn supplies. ”Ah. Been there.”

” _Funny_ ,” Louis snaps humorlessly. It’s _his_ job to be patronising, it’s his _charm_ but it's simply not _allowed_ when it’s to do with Harry. 

”But it's true,” Harry sighs, tentatively smiling even though Louis is glaring at Zayn. ”I lost my marriage _and_ my child. I mean, my cat. I’ve got nothing.”

”But you’re not homeless,” Liam challenges, concern etched on his face. 

”Yeah,” Louis agrees, more softly, looking at Harry’s defeated stance. ”Look around you. You’re home right now.”

Harry looks up at him. He smiles a bit weakly, although these words seem to have come through, at least a little. ”Thank you,” he says quietly to both of them.

Louis nods silently, heart somewhere high in his chest. Liam leans back in his chair. Still with his brow furrowed, he musters a small smile in return. 

They settle down into silence, only tiny raindrops sounding against the large window where Harry’s ever-growing heap of books are haphazardly stacked on the windowsill.

”So, _fuck_ Alex,” Zayn concludes after a beat. 

”Yeah,” Liam chimes in immediately. ”I want Milton here!”

”Me too,” Harry says sadly, shoulders drooping.

Louis motions sloppily with his fork. ”I want my guitar to not be dripping rain on Liam’s sofa.”

” _What?_ ”

”So,” Zayn adds quickly, ”fuck _all_ the pricks who made you miserable.”

They should put that on a shirt. Louis would buy all the pins and badges.

”I’d raise my glass to that,” Louis starts, holding up his fork. ”But I only have spaghetti.” 

”Spaghetti, spa-gat-oh,” Harry says lightly, grinning as he shrugs. 

Liam chokes on nothing as he laughs, which just makes Louis laugh harder. 

”Oi!” Louis warns Harry, still, but doesn’t feel the need to continue. Harry looks far too pleased with himself to have made the reference, something stupid Louis had said on the first night they all had back together. Louis can’t find the energy to begin to argue about copyright. Zayn looks skeptical again; it's his confusion face.

”Speaking of your guitar, though,” Harry continues, looking at it over his shoulder when they’re sure Liam isn’t really dying. ”Why don’t you keep it here?” 

Louis leans forward. ”I beg your pardon?”

”It just seems,” Harry continues in a soft voice, innocent smile, batting his eyelashes, ”like such an _inconvenience_ to carry, all the way to yours? Might it be better it, just, _lives_ here?”

Louis is in love. He might have dropped his fork; the sauce lightens the fall and covers the sound of the porcelain _tink_. 

“You should play for rent,” Zayn advises him. “Actually, Liam, you should demand nothing less.”

”Hey, yeah!” Liam pipes in excitedly, wiping his tears of laughter and near-asphyxiation with his palm. ”Play us a tune? _Pretty please?”_

Louis studies the guitar. He studies Harry. He loves him. Then he shrugs and gets up to grab it. 

And March continues on, with increasing sunshine over previously soggy grounds that would splash up Louis’ rolled up jeans. By April he goes kicking dusty gravel over asphalt instead, looking aside from the determined path he sets for himself between the underground stations and the school to see dandelions peeking up along the pavement (which are just as beautiful as any other flower, and if you disagree you’re simply wrong. They’re like happy miniatures of the sunshine in the sky). 

And when it’s been two months of Harry - of coming over unnoticed yet always welcomed, of pancake breakfasts, watching films on mute and endless conversations, pacing the apartment to the sound of his running shower trying to not get too pressed, of dog-eared books and circular water glass stains on every surface and a purple yoga mat he tripped over not once, but twice - Louis has had it up to the ceiling.

Niall, of all people, is the first one to notice. 

”You really fancy him, don’t you?”

Louis’ face suddenly feels boiling hot. 

He’s actually currently in Niall’s kitchen, his apartment being across the hall from Liam’s. Well, they’re both located like a 10 minute ride on the tube away from his own house, plus like 5 additional minutes for brisk walking - _which he rarely makes brisk_ \- so that’s not really an explanation. But he’s spent quite a lot of time in their respective homes the past few years anyway and, _anyway_ , Niall’s apartment is bright and lively with dusty pink details and a turquoise accent wall (he really is lowkey rich; he's a _realtor_ ) which works to brighten his mood a sufficient amount, whereas Liam’s is cozy in dark and warm colours like a home where he knows he'll be accepted as he is even in times he doesn't feel worth it. 

And he should probably deal with his current situation in real life, in which Niall just asked something terrible, right in the middle of his his lively, bright kitchen; he really doesn’t want to, though. 

”What?”

Intelligent retort. 

He has the morning off today and he absolutely did not sign up to being harrassed on it. Only to stand and be useless over Niall’s kitchen island and eat his strawberry jam right from the jar. 

”Harry,” Niall elaborates, obviously. 

”Ta, Niall.”

”Well I swear, it really looks like it. You get a little like maybe nervous, or something, or look at him a little extra.”

Oh, yes, _do_ continue. Louis _totally_ wants to know all about how disgustingly visible it is. He _totally_ wants to be reminded how he's still done nothing with all his stupid feelings, _still_ hasn't as much as attempted to ask him on a date. 

Liam, who’s known him the longest, practically his whole life, has yet to point anything out. He doesn’t withdraw him any best-friend-points for it, not really. Can’t hold it against him he doesn’t want to agonize Louis by reminding him he’s still in love with unattainable Harry Styles. 

Niall, though. Niall should suck a bag of dicks. 

If he has any detective skills Louis doesn’t know about, though, he’d like to be kept up to date; he keeps losing socks he could help him find again, which is a much more harmless task than fiddling with the pieces of his shattered heart. (Also keeps losing his mind, but that’s bound to be gone forevermore.)

”Well,” Louis continues on, shifting. His trainers squeak uncomfortably against the floor and he feels Niall’s eyes on him. ”That’s awfully forward of you.”

”My condolences for your integrity.”

”Thanks.”

”And self esteem.”

Louis looks up at him, and if looks could kill… he thinks he may have at least had a tiny shot at making Niall’s sleeve sizzle with a tiny fire. Yeah, so, he’s kind of out of it today. It’s only the hellish time of approximately 9, so, give him a break. 

”Shut up,” he advises him, simply. 

”Not until you spill.”

Louis sighs and shifts against the kitchen island, braces himself. 

”Listen, I don’t really know what’s going on at all anymore. Courtesy of My Bitter Brain.”

”Granted.”

”And as you can see - thanks for sharing by the way, I totally appreciate it - well I definitely don’t _dislike_ Harold. I don’t feel anything like- ehm, that. Well. Shit.” 

Niall looks at him, so expectantly, that there’s no way to just dance around a ring and suppose; the secret sits in the middle and knows. (The class he teaches just analyzed this poem and Louis really could think of only one real-life scenario of his own to apply it to, one he definitely could not share to his eager 11-year-olds.)

”Noted,” Niall says. 

”Okay, look.” Louis sighs, dropping the spoon in the jar. ”Not too chuffed about this, but you’re my pal. I’ll let you in on me secret.”

Niall immediately perks up. Louis is fully prepared to tell him the full story. Maybe not like, his _birth story_ or even from when a tiny boy called Liam came moving in next door to become his friend for life, but surely from when that sodding neighbour fool became friends with a sweet angel and Louis realised his lungs constricted and his heart ran a marathon every time he was close. 

But that’s about the same moment Louis realises it’s not just his own feet shuffling the ground. 

His eyes wander to the door, and so do Niall’s when they hear even more shuffling about, like someone repeatedly, actually _excessively_ , rubbing their soles on an invisible mat outside. Then an obnoxious: _knock, knock._

Niall looks back at Louis, eyebrows raised, before he turns away to open the door to none other than _Harry_. Louis wipes his mouth with the back of his hand at the speed of lightning, eyes large. 

Harry’s looking- not quite _bewildered_ , although perhaps a little pink on the tips of his ears even though his grin still spreads for Niall. Louis only notices the blush which Niall must not, because he realises immediately Harry must have heard them through the door when coming over. Also because he also realises, the noises Harry made... they were for a direct _cause._

Making his presence known, so Louis wouldn’t continue speaking. _Maybe?_ It’s plausible. 

But it’s 9 in the morning and Louis’ mind may be playing tricks on him. 

”Wotcher, Harry,” Niall greets him, shooting a glance at Louis as he closes the door. 

”Hey, Liam asked me to check if you have any coffee filters to spare,” Harry explains to Niall, but all while looking at Louis. ”Hi.”

”Good morning,” Louis replies, softly smiling. The croak in Harry’s voice from having recently woken up is nothing short of bloody adorable. ”Bumming stuff already, are we?”

”Already?” Harry tilts his head with delighted interest. A sweet little pillow mark is running down the side of his face, hair all askew. ”As in, I lived here for three months for free and still don’t have a job?”

”As in, it’s fuck-o’clock in the morning, of course,” Louis grins. 

Niall snorts a laugh. ”Already a great time to terrorize your neighbour.”

”And all the more reason to desire coffee,” Harry reasons. 

Louis smiles big, studying his face all the more. It doesn’t cross his mind why Harry is awake and crazily searching for coffee; he gets it. He totally does, as he remembers to stop cradling the jar of jam in front of him like a crazy person. Besides, if he's going somewhere for real, that's _great_ , because somehow he's got quite the status of a hermit these days. But Louis wouldn't press him on the matter.

”That would be correct,” Louis decides promptly, intertwining his fingers in front of himself instead in a business-like pose. Oh, coffee is a serious business, almost like tea. ”Niall,” he calls, ”help him with the damn magic bean juice.”

”Alright, sir,” Niall chortles, backing away from the door to raid his - even for Louis - sort of messy cupboard. ”Or, shall it be Mister? _King?”_

”King has a nice ring to it,” Louis agrees, very pleased.

Niall shakes his head and begins to wrestle his cupboard. Louis meets Harry’s eyes, both grinning widely, sleep under their eyes clearing out like dark clouds when the sun breaks free. 

Harry’s in a faded Pink Floyd t-shirt and Louis would like to make some sort of comment on it to insist he, too, knows the greatest of music (maybe a vague reference of, ”so, by the way, which one’s Pink?” from one of their greatest), just to act the slightest bit cooler than a recently divorced guy who works as a teacher for Year 7 and eats his friend’s jam. Ugh, alright, it sounds worse when he really puts words to it. 

But Niall returns from his endeavor inside his cupboard. ”Alright, I’m out of them too, but I’ve got this. Not too bad if I’m honest.” He reaches a jar of instant coffee over for Harry, still in front of the now closed door, who gratefully accepts it. ”Here you go, my Lord.”

”Oi, we’re not both kings?” Louis questions immediately. 

”Well, if you insist.” Niall sneers. ”What would that be then, in this kingdom of Apartment 5B? Distant cousins? Same household?”

Louis then looks up blankly at Harry. Well, that wasn’t planned. If he _denies_ it, does he showcase he’s _absolutely smitten_ with Harry? Should he just suck it up and argue for their friendship because that's all there really is between them? Too much thinking. Too much. Too early. 

Niall’s face distorts into a grimace, both tortured and abashed - although the latter also can be torture to endure just as well. _”Brothers?_ ” he suggests, painfully. 

Harry’s no better off suddenly, slightly more pink at the ears, looking back at him with an air of pure mortification. Why can nobody keep joking? Banting? Where did all the good times go?

Harry grimaces too. He shakes his head. ”Not where I’m from,” he mumbles.

Louis doesn’t know what to say. 

Niall blinks.”It leaves, I guess, the post _husbands-_ ”

Louis startles, and he quickly takes the bullet. ”You’ve been here two months, by the way,” he rushes, looking at Harry. He’s met with the expression of a furrowed brow; _extreme_ torture. ”I mean, so, you know. No need to exaggerate by calling it _three_. You said you lived here for _three_.”

Which he did exaggerate, like, equally as many minutes ago, and they already passed the subject instantly, okay, great. Fantastic!

In the corner of his eye, he notices Niall fighting back a laugh. Oh, he’s a wanker. A bloody _wanker_. 

”Well, two months…” Harry pauses. ”And uh, actually, I should get going now,” he lies, abruptly. "So."

Louis wishes he was him and could leave the scene too. 

”Thank you, for this.” Harry raises the coffee cup to Niall, who nods at him, then goes ducking out of the room. ”Have a good day, you both.”

”Farewell,” says Niall. 

”Toodeloo,” Louis replies. When the door has closed. ”Fuck.”

Niall bursts out laughing, and continues even when he slaps his forehead down on top of the kitchen island. 

”Yeah,” Louis sighs and nods, looking up at the ceiling. ”Yeah, just let it all out, boyo. There you go, nice and steady.”

Well, my god, he suddenly realises when he catches a glimpse of the clock on the wall he _can_ leave the scene like Harry. Because he’s an adult with a job and there’s tubes to be caught and lessons for a classroom to be held. 

” _Fuck_ , Niall, I actually have to go too.”

Niall looks up, red-faced and wiping tears, so Louis just rolls his eyes and pushes himself back up from the island. 

”Can we talk about this?” Niall implores, albeit a little breathless, as Louis strides towards the door Harry just disappeared through. ”The secret, and that?”

”I think you already did,” Louis grumbles.

Niall laughs again. ”Oh, come on!” 

Louis just gives him a look of annoyance. ”I’ll try not to let you down, lad,” he promises. ”Thank you for the chat.”

”To be continued,” Niall concludes. ”Have a nice fucking day.”

”Thank you very fucking much, you fuck,” Louis chuckles, and then he’s off. 

Louis enters their favourite café around lunchtime - which might just be their favourite because it’s located at the bottom floor of Liam and Niall’s apartment building, although maybe partly because they have pretty good blueberry muffins and because you get your third coffee for free - to a ding of the bell above the door. 

It’s Zayn he’s meeting, deciding on lunch breaks at the same time; but it’s Harry he hears. 

The excitement is instant, which is nothing out of the ordinary, if we’re honest. He’s excited to flip through Zayn’s sketchbook of tattoo ideas too, and get one of those blueberry muffins himself, but something about hearing Harry’s voice after a decade lost still renders him with butterflies. They haven't talked since that same morning when everything went a little too wild for his own liking, maybe for Harry's liking too. Definitely not for Niall's. Right up his alley, the shit.

Honestly, he'd like to apologise for being so irrational, so panic-stricken and therefore hysterically _weird_ , when all Harry wanted was some coffee.

But what _is_ out of the ordinary, is the way he also instantly feels that something isn’t totally alright, once he’s close enough to make out Harry’s face and tone. 

Louis' got an hour long break, so maybe he has time to snoop. Well, god, it's not like he _intends_ to. It's just that, as soon as he closes in on Harry to greet him a hello, ask where he's headed off or if maybe he's headed home (never found out what the morning had in store for him either, which would be nice to catch up on, just to check in on what he's doing now that he's not just deleting texts from his angry father or re-reading the same books for the sake of having something to do), he gets close enough to start making out his words. His voice seems distorted with what is not at all his soft, happy, usual self. 

”Would you stop being so difficult?” he hears him say, an arm hugging around himself with the other holding his cellphone to his ear. He’s turned to the window and overlooking the busy pedestrians on the street, hair softly curling over his broad shoulders, white tee tucked into baby-blue, bell-bottom trousers; Louis makes a mental note of remembering to compliment them. ”You promised me. It’s not hard to keep.”

Oh no. It doesn’t seem right to confront Harry right during what seems to be a difficult conversation. 

Louis pretends to fiddle with his own phone, glancing up at Harry. Pretends to study the menu he already knows, for leverage, then back to creeping. Maybe he’s the _most obvious_ spy, but at least he can try. 

”It’s easy for you to say,” Harry retorts to the person on the phone, whoever it is. He’s never heard him quite so worked up, still with a quiet voice, hissing into the receiver to not make a scene. Then the hint of sentiment. ”I just want to _see_ him.” 

Wait, _who?_ Who could _he_ be? It’s not logical he’d refer to any of the boys, right, even to Louis himself; they see each other nearly every day. There’s nobody there to _long_ for. Nobody Louis knows of, that Harry would want to see so bad. 

Harry slumps his shoulders, twiddling a strand of hair. Louis listens closely to hear him at all, over chatter, his voice so small. ”I really just miss him,” he continues, sounding sad. 

And Louis feels a bit dizzy. With the gathering of people inside, conversing over their lunches, the air is closing in a little now, a looming anxiety as he tries to make sense of what he’s hearing. 

Harry, wanting to meet someone else? To be with him? Another _guy_ , who’s definitely not Louis? Oh, fuck. Fuck.

”Yeah, well, I love him.” His world falls to pieces. And it feels like shattered glass, falling through his chest. ”So. Think about it then, I guess.”

This cannot be happening.

Is this karma? He thought too long about the perfect moment, the strength to be brave. Now, Harry can’t be his. Louis has lost him. That’s game over. 

Louis can’t even fathom it. 

Harry takes the phone down after a last quiet ”bye” and Louis quickly turns around. Nothing within him can bear to face Harry right now, so he stands like an idiot wondering what to do, knowing quite well that if Harry just notices the weird hunched over figure he’ll instantly recognise the back of his shaggy hair and scruffy denim jacket. 

He takes a few steps forward, searching desperately for Zayn but he’s fashionably late, which is typical, _just perfect_. 

Harry sees him first. He walks up beside him to help Louis notice him, so silly. And Louis loves him being silly, and Louis loves _him_ , but now it kind of just makes him feel a bit sick, a lump in his chest of sadness and stress. 

He musters a smile, fakes being surprised at seeing Harry here all of a sudden. He was ace at drama in school, see, and he smiled through his last year of married life despite it being pure misery and oh how he cried himself to sleep every other night; this is easy. Heartbreak is nothing. 

”Oh, hi,” Louis greets him, smile never wavering once. ”You’re back home?”

Harry shrugs, clearly proud. Louis’ heart hurts for reasons he never wanted it to when looking at his beautiful smile. ”I’ve got another thing, so, just grabbing something here before I leave,” he explains painstakingly slow. ”Since you guys go here a lot. Hey, I can treat you?”

And all this time, Louis thinks, he really just assumed they were going to end up together. But it’s not like he had dibs on Harry just because he maybe thought they had something, or did he just read it wrong? Did he somehow read everything wrong and Harry was just a friend? 

He's always been a friend. He's always been _just_ his _friend_ , why did he think anything else at all?

He’s been a fucking idiot, really. He’s been the kind of selfish prick they toasted about collectively hating. Should he place himself in the bin and put the lid on now, or later? 

”No, actually, I’m waiting for someone,” Louis says, then shakes his head. No reason to be cryptic, or condescending, or spiteful. It doesn’t really matter now. ”Zayn, I mean. Then, you know. Back to work and all that.”

Foolish of him to think he could ever work things out in life. 

And he doesn't even invite Harry to stay; he's a _prick_. So Harry nods silently, and then Zayn enters, leather jacket and boots and fishnets under ripped jeans, and Louis is so relieved he turns away from Harry, and when he turns back only moments later, it’s to see him leave with his takeaway bag through the doors. 

Louis regrets it with the feeling of an icy cold lump in his stomach as soon as Harry steps foot outside, and disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come! ;:~)


	3. The One When Louis Finds Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the self-titled chapter when louis has gotten very depressy over harry's new mystery man

He realises when he gets on the tube that afternoon right before the doors close behind him (after sprinting and jumping down all the stairs underground, oh my god, he hates being alive and having to breathe), that Harry is actually sitting right in front of him, which is awful. 

He’s been grading his class’ English homework well into the evening, now with takeaway bags in both hands, Liam’s and Harry’s favourite picks both memorized since long ago and resting in there with his own. Well thing is, maybe he kind of wanted to use it as a strategy to not discuss the events of this morning nor midday, like never _ever_ , as long as they had their mouths full of curry or sushi. He's just had a very, _very_ bad day. He kind of needs to lie down under a blanket and maybe listen to Radiohead or something else of the like.

But as for right now, he kind of has to acknowledge Harry before he can ensure that. Steps: acknowledge Harry, eat food, cry. That's a good night right there, so, he can’t just _ignore_ him. Louis, we might as well repeat, is a great actor and excelled in his Drama classes. But it would just be _far too_ mortifying to pretend - to _act_ , if you will - as if he’d never seen Harry once they got off at the same stop. He already did once today when Harry got off his horrendous phone call and he's not sure he excelled there either.

He’d like to avoid such potential catastrophes. 

So he squeezes past a lady and stands in front of Harry, hooks one of the bags around his tattooed wrist and puts the same hand for support on the railing above. 

It’s just impossible to resist a grin, despite it all. He’s had the whole day to process, you know, to consider it all. And of course, he’ll survive; on second thought, maybe he'll put on _I Will Survive_ and not at all hide under blankets.

Like, fuck _yeah_ it sucks, it _hurts_ like _hell_. But it won’t kill him to wait for Harry to realise how yet another guy is a downright prick. Right? Assuming he will. Assuming he also won’t, like, attempt _marriage_ with this bloke too. But Louis could wait two years for this runaway bride. Hell, he could even wait another ten. 

He needs to do better, is what he needs to do. Act when he can. But also, keep a respectful distance, of course, if Harry really does have it in for someone else. But he can't just hide these feelings like a coward. And if he gets a no? He _will_ survive.

Or maybe he just feels awfully confident after picking up that perfect order of takeaway. 

Besides, the way he waits for Harry’s oblivious locks to fall back and reveal his upturned face, it’s just something menacingly funny; some childish glee, and that soft, warm happiness he’s come to associate with Harry. It’s all flooding back and embalming his wounds, soothing the heart-wrenching pain of today's noon as warmth blooms in his chest instead. 

He’s so incredibly thankful that, when he does look up, Harry returns the same kind of grin. 

”Oh! I didn’t see you,” Harry says over the sound of the rattling car as he pockets his phone, fixes his hair into the reflection opposite him. He’s dressed quite smart in those high-waisted trousers all snug on his waist, how they make his gloriously long legs seem longer yet. Up close he realises the baby-blue fabric is velvet.

”Ditto,” Louis husks, so happy with him, so happy there’s just no way to conceal or deny it. He remembers he wanted to ask him what brought him up and away since the early morning. ”What have you been doing, then? Shopping with daddy’s credit card?”

Harry looks up, appalled. ”Whose? _Liam’s_?”

”Who else’s?”

Harry looks off, smirking, then looks back up. ”You know my _actual daddy_ cut me off.” 

Which is true, Harry's still in quite a quarrel with his father; but Louis would like to think he’s being sly rather than an insensitive prick, although, who honestly knows? He’s mentally placed himself in the bin for being a selfish prick since a few hours ago. He waves him off. ”Details.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He leans forward, cups his hand by his mouth as if sharing a secret. ”I’ve been job hunting,” he clarifies. 

Louis gasps. It’s not even for the sake of acting. ”That’s brilliant, Harry!” 

And that truly does excite him. He’s been rooting for Harry to get better, to do things on his own, when he’d be able to; it's just sad to hear him speak down about himself and claim he's not a good home for Milton the cat, and all that. He bumps Harry’s shoe with the toe of his own for excited emphasis. 

Harry smiles sheepishly and looks down at where their shoes meet. He’s just golden, isn’t he? He’s gold. ”Well, I didn’t _get_ any job yet, did I?” he says, which is just far too timid. 

”Well, you still went!” Louis says, smiling proudly. He’s ecstatic Harry is feeling ready to get back on track. He’s relieved the conversation is still going so smoothly. ”That’s great news if you ask me. I’m happy for you.”

He wobbles a little with his bags then and Harry chuckles. ”Well, then I’m glad.” 

He wobbles again, then come Harry’s hands on his hips to steady him. 

Louis flinches, although he’s not sure Harry can feel it. The whole car is vibrating a bit.

His mouth goes dry, looking down at Harry’s hands on his body; pondering once again upon the prospect of death and dying, although for very different reasons. 

Harry’s fingers curl into the sides of his T-shirt and Louis’s stomach fills with a twisting sensation of warmth. 

Harry’s looking straight ahead, so Louis decides it’s best he does the same. Pitch fucking black outside that window. Well, hm, go fucking figure when they’re underground and all that. His own large eyes are staring back at him in the window reflection. 

”Well,” he continues bravely, maybe to nobody in particular, trying hard not to think _impure thoughts_ as he’s suddenly realised what Harry’s pretty lips are level with, as the warmth sinks alarmingly lower and lower yet, ”my dinner choice is all the more suitable, then! What other than carbs can be a celebratory dinner?”

”Absolutely nothing,” Harry agrees, low enough he might not have picked up on it if all of his senses weren’t standing on end, suddenly. 

(Other things, such as irresponsible bodily limbs, are however _not_ allowed to be standing on end, thanks very _fucking_ much. He needs to fix this situation immediately.) 

Thankfully the person sitting next to Harry leaves just before the train slows to a halt, so Louis can sink down into the seat; Harry’s warm hands leave his side, and for the second time today, Louis is rendered speechless. 

After another station passes in silence, suddenly Harry’s head thumps down softly on his shoulder. Resting it there. Shoulders smushed together. Louis’ heart stops. 

After another station, Louis tentatively leans his own on top of Harry’s. He noses the soft curls; sweet shampoo, peppermint gum, a sunshine kind of warmth. 

After two more stations, they both get up and leave the underground, walking closely together towards Liam’s apartment, not speaking until they’re above ground and then, it’s Harry discussing his job interviews. As Louis regains steadiness to his body (which previously turned into chocolate pudding) they, once again, don’t discuss the passed events. Which is simply for the greater good. 

”Oh, I talked to Alex again.”

Louis feels like a picture of a thunder cloud appears above him as he glances up at Harry. 

They’re having the dinner Louis bought at Liam’s kitchen table - or _their_ , maybe he should say, now that Harry basically lives here - and Harry’s looking over at Liam as he speaks. Louis stabs his eggroll particularly evilly. 

”Is he gonna let you take Milton here now or what?” Liam inquires, clearly still hung up on this detail. Well, it’s adorable Harry loves his cat. It’s truly like his child. But Louis is more concerned with the fact he’s just casually chatting with his _ex_ now, _apparently?_

His insides turn to ice as it dawns on him. _He_ , from the earlier café phone call, is probably _Alex_. And _Harry_ is probably going to _take him back_. 

But wait, why would he? The relationship was about as bad as Louis can remember the last year of his own. They collectively hate Alex, and that collective includes Harry. 

”Well, I doubt it,” Harry continues. ”I just let him know I want to see him.”

Liam says just what Louis is thinking. ”What you wanna see Alex for?”

”Oh, no. _Milton_ , of course,” Harry corrects. Louis drops his fork on the floor. ”Uh- oops?”

”Sorry,” Louis croaks, flushing as he dives under the table. ”Continue, I’m fucking dumb, sorry.” 

At least not saying out loud: oh my fucking _god_ , you were just talking about the fucking _cat!_

”Uh well, I just let him know about how I miss Milton, and all. So he knows.” Louis makes very sure not to hit his head on the way back into sitting. He’s sure he’s looking crazed and dishevelled. He feels like it. (He'd said I miss you, I love you... who the fuck _else_ does he miss and love other than his only child?) ”Then, I met Lou and Zayn.” He smiles briefly at Louis, so briefly he apparently doesn’t notice he’s blushing. ”And then ran to my interview.”

”You never told me!” Liam screeches and throws a piece of naan bread at him. ”You got an interview, man? Congratulations!”

Harry retells this story to Liam and gets more praise in return. Louis is still picking around his plate and contemplating what a fucking idiot he’s been. Even more than before. Was that even possible? He’ll just mentally stay in the bin for a while. 

He _honestly_ suspected Harry had a thing back for his prick of an ex rather than for even a _second_ stop to consider he was maybe referring to his cat, whom Louis already knows he misses dearly? A boy who also is referred to with he and him as pronouns? A boy Harry can very well declare undying love for as much as he wants?

He really got his heart broken competing with a cat. Honestly? This is a new low. This is the _high end_ of low. 

Well, he’s not heartbroken now. And Harry really touched him on the tube, and they had a moment, an actual moment, and he’s made a promise to himself. 

He’s going to really try to work this out now. At least he’s going to give it his best shot. (Once he’s done being mad at himself. Once he dares open the lid and exit the bin.) 

”I have to tell you something,” Louis says, reaching for an Oreo. ”Right now immediately.”

Louis’ tuning his guitar, sitting on pillows beneath the big window. He overlooks the city, sometimes lets his eyes wander to study Harry in the reflection, wavy hair in his face and an endearing, focused little wrinkle between his eyebrows as he looks down at the papers he’s reading, an elegant glass of wine in front of each of them, a bowl of shared Oreos.

Come May, it marked three months of Harry. Which meant three months of sushi and home cooked lasagna and rom coms, of joining him to try and learn how to bake scones or failed lemon tart, coffee at theirs or at Niall’s before they left to their respective jobs or, as for Harry, maybe a new interview or just back to dog-eared books at home. Staying late to catch the tube with him and to lean on each other, or share earbuds to let something from Harry’s many playlists, like Cyndi Laupner’s _Drove All Night_ , get them through the whole way home. 

Of evenings at Liam and Harry’s shared apartment. Of glances he's not sure have really been there, touches he’s not sure really could have really happened. 

Now they’re just sitting together, Liam and Zayn out and away (together? He doesn’t know), and Niall off with a little miss don’t-ask-me-yet-in-case-it’s-shit or whatever it was he said when they asked for his date’s name. 

Harry’s looming sleepily over papers - for a work interview or whatnot - behind him, his hair tucked behind his ears, fingers mindlessly fiddling with the red bandana tied around his neck. 

He looks up, the wrinkle still between his eyebrows, green eyes all drowsy and adorable. ”Okay?” he drawls eventually. 

Louis, for some ungodly reason, feels the grin plastered on his face. Why is he so agonizingly cute? That’s the million pound question. 

”Yes,” Louis continues, trying to sound totally serious, ”but only if you promise not to like, laugh right at me. I’m sensitive.”

Outside it’s evening, no stars in the city, but the moon casts a glow on Louis’ fingers working on the strings; practising for the end of term party, during which he agreed to play a tune (and he’s totally not nervous). 

”Okay. I understand.” Harry’s own grin proves difficult for him to cover. They just have this vibe, together. Everything so fun and easy. ”Um, but like, I can’t promise before I know what you’ll say, can I?”

”You cannot?”

Harry bobs his head, pondering. ”Well, you know. How can I know how I’ll react, without knowing what you’ll say? There’s no telling. No way to foresee, such, _events_.”

Louis narrows his eyes and purses his lips. He twists around on his bum to face Harry then puts his fingertips together in front of himself, feigning intelligence, only to see Harry trying to mask a laugh. 

”Well now, see, Mr. Styles, I was under a different impression with this question at hand. Isn’t it the point of a promise that it happens _before_ whatever the promise regards?”

”Louis.”

”Yeah.” Louis sighs. ”Yeah, I know. So. Right.”

He shifts, absentmindedly grabs an Oreo from the bowl between them on the floor and flips it between his fingers. 

”Well, so then, did you know... I had a major crush on you in college?” 

Harry just looks at him for a little moment. Louis feels like a balloon pricked with a needle. Cold and vacant, all of a sudden. 

He ruined it, didn’t he? He ruined their forever fun and easiness.

He finally did it. 

But Harry’s eyes go softer, voice softer just the same. ”Mm,” he hums. ”I knew.”

”Oh.”

Well _fuck fuckidy fuck_ then, he doesn’t say. Because that’d be fucking stupid. Which would be perfectly in line with his personality, thanks very much, but. Anyway. 

They both look at each other, Louis cold with fear, but stomach somehow hot. Something’s doing somersaults in there. Maybe it’s the butterflies. Maybe he’s falling backwards off a chair and not realising, because that would be the same feeling, and doing that would just be the cherry on top of his cake of _misery_. 

”So, like,” he continues on, so brave, my god, how is he breathing, ”if that’s okay? Is it? That’s cool?” He stares out into nothing and doesn’t pause, too scared of the answer and too embarrassed of himself not to continue rambling. ”What if I, maybe, _ask you out_ , sometime? I guess, or something?”

Harry continues looking, he sees from the corner of his eye; then nods. He smiles. ”That would be alright.”

Feelings die hard. Louis dies harder. 

But he’s alive for now, he thinks. Well, very much so, if you take his pulse into consideration, which is very, very fast at the moment. 

”Cool,” he says, staring at the Oreo, maybe speaking to that instead. ”Alright. Maybe I will.”

Harry, in return, smiles into his glass of wine. Maybe they’re both just idiots. And maybe Louis is reading too much into the situation, or maybe Harry actually seems pleased with that. 

”Alright,” Harry murmurs, tipping his glass back for a sip. ”Cool.”

Louis props the Oreo in his mouth to not say anything in return, especially not about how painfully delicious Harry’s neck looks when exposed, hair falling back over his shoulders. 

Well, that’s a first step; don’t have to be seeing the whole staircase just yet. So, like. Whatever. 

Wait, no. _Nope._ Torment increases. This is fucking _ridiculous_. 

He is a _child_. This isn't how to handle a situation throughout. He can’t keep it in anymore, it’s just impossible. And he’s a sodding _fool_. 

It has to come out, or it will eat him alive. 

”Hey, can I tell you something else?”

Harry stops, takes his glass down after a short, still pause. ”What?”

”Maybe I still do.”

It’s so natural, isn’t it? Like it should always be like this, and always should have been. 

Harry looks up at him, Louis meeting his eyes for one very brave moment. Maybe he already knows what’s coming. ”Do what?”

Louis takes a breath, accidentally strums a string and silences it immediately with his palm. Hesitates. ”I mean, restart. Hey, you know how I just told you how I had a fat crush on you back in college? There was a moment of this, you know, like a minute ago, if you can recall.” 

He hesitates again. ”I do indeed, yes,” Harry acknowledges, tentatively. 

Louis nods, mostly to himself. He looks down at his hands and decides to carefully put his guitar aside. ”And I should just be honest with myself now for once in my life because I’m being real fucking stupid. So, fuck. Maybe I still do.” He lays it on some pillows, tries not to tremble. ”I mean.” 

And now he can’t quite manage to look at him anymore. 

”Maybe I’m still in love with you.”

It’s silent for a moment. Painstakingly slow, he listens to the sounds of the street below. Hears mostly the blood soaring in his ears. 

Actively avoiding Harry’s eyes (his whole presence, and repressing the fact he just said this), his skin prickles with the surprise when he speaks again. ”I think I’d quite like that.”

Louis snaps his head up. He blinks at him. ”Sorry?”

Harry smiles, the sweetest thing. ”What?”

Louis feels warm from head to toe, and Harry’s smile just never falters. It eases his body, eases his mind. 

Harry shakes his head at himself, looking so endeared it should be illegal. His eyes seem genuine; a twinkle of interest. ”I always wished you’d say that,” he explains in a murmur, void of all hesitation. 

”You’re bluffing,” is the first thing Louis can think to say, so shocked he almost sounds annoyed. 

Harry, thankfully, laughs. Instead of responding though, he leaves his papers behind and starts a knee-walk towards Louis across the wooden floor. 

Louis’ heart jolts. He stares back at him, adoring the colour green, clearly for reasons unknown. ”I’m sorry it took so long, then,” he murmurs, pulse growing quicker. ”Must have been a very big inconvenience.”

”Yes, very,” Harry says gravely. But he smiles, still. Still, moving closer.

”I’ve been busy, meself,” Louis continues. It feels like time might be moving slower around them, now that he’s looking at Harry’s lips instead. ”Thinking about you, and that. Apparently I was painfully obvious.”

Harry nods, understanding. ”I’ve just been wishing I could kiss you, quite a few times.”

In front of Louis, seated on the floor, he stops. His pretty lips are still curled in a small smile, eyes on Louis’ own. 

”Can I kiss you now?” he asks him. 

Louis could accuse him of bluffing again. He could also, not. Allow the spreading warmth to engulf him. 

He wets his lips tentatively. Harry’s lips are parted before he parts his own to speak. Pauses, feels the electricity in the air with their lips lined up and within reach, longing. Maybe magnetic to pull them closer still. 

”Oh, please do.”

And Harry kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. 

It’s like a sigh of relief. 

His hand tangles in Louis’ hair, holding behind his head; as if he’d leave. _As if_. Louis’ hands come cautiously to his hips, trying to figure out what to do, how do limbs work? But Harry hooks a finger down his collar; pulling, demanding. Get closer, do more. 

Louis just shifts and tries to get as close as he possibly can. His hands travel up behind his toned back, lets his shirt ride up a little and feels him shiver, a small noise escaping. Louis mimics it, hands under his shirt, nails bluntly on his skin. Hot, wet, hard. 

Harry just moves keenly into the touch, hips bucking, like he’s dreamed of it just as much as Louis has. A fact which only works to make him harder. Against his thigh, he feels Harry being no better off, which makes his head spin a little too violently. 

_So_ when Niall returns like a thunderstorm from his _disastrous_ date only moments later - the orange, deliciously fruity drink thrown at him still a tell-tale sticky trail down his torso and new shirt - Louis pretends his cheeks aren’t dark red and hair a matted mess, Harry’s lips kissed wet and pink and begging for more beside him on the pillows. 

He closes the fly in his jeans with trembling hands when Niall goes raiding the freezer for the ice cream stacked there for sulking, only just opened seconds before Niall’s spare key jangling in Liam’s lock broke them apart. Louis might need some of that ice cream too, now. 

Him and Harry keep exchanging glances as Niall continues to vent. Ignoring the surge of want and need, the throbbing heat, the once quick but now gradually slowing breaths. 

Niall can, still, suck a bag of dicks. Louis surely isn’t going to get to do it, so someone around here might as well get some. Oh, yeah, he’s totally not mad. This is simply lovely. 

He sighs loudly as he sinks back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling with the sound of Niall’s voice, soon joined by Liam and Zayn, keeping him up until past midnight. 

And so, from the feeling of impending doom, to wondering whatever he was going to do about his tragic, unrequited love… and now suddenly, the single - but very loud, big and mighty - thought that’s constantly crowding Louis’ mind, is _Harry’s lips_. 

Harry, kissing him, or on his knees, or Louis on his knees for Harry or draped across the bed, or bent over it. Harry’s hands. Harry’s torso. Legs. Lips. 

_Harry, Harry, sex with Harry._

It makes it excruciatingly difficult to concentrate. 

With this difficulty, now, his baking sessions become fatal. (He witnesses Harry lick the spoon, or the spatula, more than once and somehow still breathes. But when it comes to fingers, Louis only has to try it once himself before they both seem to collectively decide not to do it; Harry tips the bowl full of batter onto the ground that time, and Louis cleans it all up himself. Not with his tongue though, thanks.)

Now, the pacing and trying to keep busy when he’s entered the apartment as Harry’s in the shower becomes impossible. (He’s left torn, conspiring if he should ask to enter now? What that would be like? Would Harry invite him into the shower, would they be there until their lips were kissed raw and the steamy glass door had hand imprints all over it? Or, would he scream and call the police? Huh. Yeah. Seems more likely, doesn’t it?)

Now, the way home on the tube is also always filled with touches. (Feet bumping. Heads leaning. Fingers searching. It’s filled with Pet Shop Boys’ _Always on My Mind_ , or A Flock of Seagulls’ _Space Age Love Song_ , in their shared earbuds off one of Harry’s many playlists.)

Louis hasn’t dated anyone for 10 years. Like, fuck! He hasn’t had a crush, or desired someone so bad, yet still while being so scared to fuck it up. He always had his husband, always secured. Always losing the years of his life to a man that was going to end up stabbing him in the back. And true friends stab you in the front, don’t they?

He doesn’t know what the fuck goes on anymore, if he’s blatantly honest. What do kids do when they want to get with someone new? Sext? He only knows how to send middle finger emojis. 

Symbolic as it seems, since he is, essentially, fucked. 

”Sorry I’m emotional, it must be the hormones.”

”Louis, for god’s sake, you’re not pregnant.”

Louis wipes at his eye, still watching as a smaller group of kids from his class stands in front of the auditorium, which is packed with parents and friends and extended family alike. The kids are bowing as they just finished performing their set of songs for the end of the year ceremony. Summer awaits. 

He visited his kids a few times as they practised, is the thing, and seeing them up there now, even Zayn’s little niece, he just can’t deny how proud he feels. And he didn’t even tutor their singing classes. Mrs. Smith must be such a happy little wreck right now, huh? 

”Oh, _honestly_.” Harry sighs, although he’s definitely smirking, and hands him the black and white bandana that’s been tied around his neck. This is a family show, and Harry’s shirt is sort of obscenely unbuttoned, especially now without what was meant to be a _tie_ \- insert quotation marks - which was the only thing giving some decent coverage. 

Louis can’t complain anyway as he reaches over and takes the bandana to pet his tear-stained cheek. Couldn’t find the words to even if he tried. 

”Thanks, my love,” Louis murmurs under the hoots and applause and squeezes Harry’s knee, batting himself with the other hand. He smells something of freshly washed hair, curly from being air-dried; of metallic, from the too hot room and maybe too tight (to Louis’ despair) suit, which is dark as the night as if to match Louis’ own midnight blue, silky to the touch, too well fitted to not occasionally study closely. He wants to lean into it, but his body is as rigid as a too-tight guitar string (symbolic), trying not to shake from the nerves. ”Well, fucking shit. It’s me next, innit?”

Louis has been practising everyday the whole month for this performance, for this end of the year party with all his kids and all the rest of the whole fucking school, and still it rattles his nerves a significant amount. He’s not sure if it makes it better or worse he asked Harry to accompany him. Not sure if this is what will be labeled their first real date, in which Louis cried into Harry’s bandana, then cracked his voice on stage, probably. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. 

(Is it simply impolite to ask to kiss his neck right now? To relish in his scent and strip his too-hot clothes off? Maybe later. Well, definitely not right now.)

”I suppose. It’s your time to shine, little star.” Harry leans in. He buries his mouth and nose into his hair, Louis’ stomach flutters. He whispers: ”I know you’ll _smash_ it.”

On their first real date, Louis fights the shivers in public. (This is a _family_ show!)

Louis would like to show _him_ smashing, too; only, it hasn’t happened yet. Somehow they never got closer than exchanging kisses, one of which was Harry peck to his cheek just now, making Louis smile despite his inner turmoil. 

No thoughts. Head empty. Only happy, mushy glee, for now. 

The group of kids filter off the stage, Louis watching Zayn a few rows away with his big family as they welcome the girl back with big smiles and applause. This room is too bloody hot, being June and with so many people coming together; or is it feeling suddenly as if the walls are coming in closer little by little now that Louis knows it’s him they’re waiting for? 

Oh fuck, it really is time now. 

Louis takes a steadying breath, stands up and grabs his black guitar case from his feet. He reaches the bunched up bandana back over to Harry, but he shakes his head. 

”Keep it. For good luck.” Smiling softly, he takes Louis’ hand instead and kisses it gently. ”Go on.”

Louis grins, squeezes Harry’s hand. ”I’ll smash it.” He ties the bandana around his left wrist. ”Hopefully not my guitar,” he adds in a mutter and then turns his heel to Harry’s small giggle. 

The performance goes fairly well. Louis goes a bit unsteady at times, not too good at playing at the same time as he sings, but when he looks up at the audience and instantly spots Harry, looking just _amazed_ , it’s all worth it. 

So he strums and sings, an old Elvis tune, or maybe it’s the cover by The Pet Shop Boys. It’s a cover by _Louis_. And some of the crowd sings along to the familiar words, but Louis is singing it entirely for Harry. 

_”Maybe I didn’t treat you_  
_Quite as good as I should have…”_

It’s a song off Harry’s playlist, their recent tube-song, one Louis has come to associate with him. He knows Harry knows. He knows he knows Louis is cheesy as all _hell_ for choosing to do this, and that’s what makes him even happier, to be met with his astonished smile. Like a bright star in the middle of the crowd, in his soft suit and tan chest and curly shower-soft hair, stealing all his attention like so many times before. Feeling like sunshine. 

Ideally, all in all, it was probably a fairly good surprise. 

_”I’m so happy that you’re mine_

_You were always on my mind_...”

Heat smothering now, Harry tugs him aside by the bandana around his wrist well after the ceremony, when the cake has been cut and served, the coffee, tea and lemonade drunk; Louis has been given a heap of flowers, a heap of hugs and good words from parents too. He’s very fond of all kids he teaches, which apparently has shown very well over the past year, and to lots of appreciation at that, too. 

He’s gobsmacked at it all, still. Feels like soaring up on clouds, all too good to be true, until Harry takes him aside and asks if they can go outside for a nip of air.

“Fuck,” Louis says instantly, spell broken. Tries to ignore noticing how his shirt is plastered against his back as he puts his bouquet down on his chair. “Have I been neglecting you? How long has it been? _Days?”_

“That’s fine,” Harry tells him, and it sounds earnest, at least. ”Just want to breathe a little.”

”Yeah,” Louis agrees in a sigh, as they make their way through people, outside through two big glass doors. ”Breathing is good. Healthy, I’ve heard.”

And outside it’s hot as hell; just as inside. But at least there’s a breeze to help them regain the ability to obtain oxygen and birds chirping in the delicately rustling leaves. No people, too, other than the ones leaving across the lawn, kids skipping into summer break. 

Louis feels the kind of delirious of when it’s too warm, of too much lack of breath for too long; hot, hot summer nights. But he smells freshly cut grass, lilacs and lupins, hot asphalt scuffing his shoes. Harry’s hand steady in his own. Is he dehydrated? At least he had a cuppa back inside, which, maybe has been a _poor choice_ given the climate, but, it’s acceptable, tea is always acceptable. 

Harry continues walking around a corner of the building and then they’re in the shade of it, so that Louis breathes a sigh of relief, enjoying air, precious air. 

“You were amazing up there,” Harry says now, leaning against the wall with an air of coolness Louis currently totally lacks. Considers fanning himself with his hand like a maiden in distress. ”And after too.”

Louis had been swept away soon again after seating, wanting to be with Harry again but, given the quick, final word from the headmaster echoing across the room, their exchange would have been inaudible. And immediately party-mode commenced, and suddenly he had a dozen or more people swarmed around him to tell him how _great_ he had been, to give him their gifts, what have you. _School’s Out_ playing from speakers he’d just played out of himself, which was still fairly surreal to think about now. 

“Thank you, thank you,” Louis says for the hundredth time, patting for his cigarettes. Decides against it. He looks down at the car park in the distance, some rolling away and leaving now, behind bright green trees. “I was nervous too, but, I’m sure you could tell.”

Harry doesn’t immediately answer, so he looks back at him. Lips curled in a smile. Looks at his eyes.

“Hello,” Louis says, suddenly hoarse.

“Hi,” Harry grins, arms around his waist. Mischievous about it. 

”Well, you’re cheeky, aren’t you?” Louis grins, only a _little_ woozy, a _little more_ than a moment prior. Harry doesn’t reply, only pulls him a little closer to him still, where he’s stood against the wall. ”I’m disgusting,” Louis comments with a dry laugh, but gingerly mimicks Harry’s movements all the same. 

It's perfect. A body he loves touching, no matter how rotten the weather. But sunshine softly warming them in the shade and cool is surely better than pouring rain. 

”No,” Harry replies, then kisses him. Then Louis realises what the fuck he’s just done. He’s really just _serenaded_ Harry, across all people, yes, but bugging _fuck_ , he really did it. And without dying? _That’s_ incredible. Well, Harry is. Harry is what made him do it at all.

“I-” Louis starts at a brief pause, lips still brushing together, eyes closed; his knees feel weak. Harry makes him so, lips chasing another kiss. “Did you like it?”

“What?” Harry asks, hands coming up under his jacket. Louis immediately wants it off. Harry’s too. Nothing all too covering is underneath that one, though, so maybe he better not. “This?”

Louis hums a little chuckle, kisses him again, hand at the small of his back. Harry grips at the fabric of his shirt. My god, how does he take it all off? _(You’re outside, fuckass. Erase these thoughts immediately_ he tells himself sternly, although he was really never given the great gift of Self Control.)

“I think I was referring to the song,” Louis murmurs, starting to kiss his cheek, jaw, Harry craning his neck and humming approvingly. Should he kiss his neck now? Is this a good idea? “But this, happening here? All your brilliant idea.”

“Thank you for the credit,” Harry says.

“Where it is due.” He kisses his neck, sucks a little. Harry _gasps_. “Fuck.”

Harry’s leg coming up around his. Wrapping them together. Dangerous, dangerous. Louis’ hand slips from his back to his ass. “We really shouldn’t-” Harry starts.

“No,” Louis immediately agrees, against his neck but still, nobody moves. He kisses him in the same place again. “The song, it was all for you. Could you tell?”

“Believe me,” Harry murmurs into his hair. “I could. That was beautiful.”

Louis realises Harry’s pressed against the tile wall, making him wildly imagine dropping to his knees. Harry’s trousers are too tight anyway. Good for nothing. Would look better on the ground. Well, jesus, no. No. _But,_ probably on his _bedroom floor_.

“I want to,” Louis says, and all the _want_ is extremely present. “I do, all this, but.”

Harry pulls away, tries to look at him. ( _Oh no, come back!_ ) ”Yeah.”

”I fucking _really_ do-”

“I know. Me too.”

“We can,” Louis says, and Harry’s leg comes down, although he can’t bring himself to remove his hand. It’s such a perfect ass. He’s so privileged to touch it. “But. Later.”

Harry smiles. It definitely makes him less upset, at the very least. His hands come up to cup Louis’ face, which makes him raise his eyebrows in surprise instead. ”I want to kiss you on every doorstep,” he tells him.

To that, Louis can only grin. Fireworks inside him. ”For sure,” he says, full of giddy happiness. 

“And go on picnics in parks.”

Louis laughs. It’s so fucking adorable he doesn’t know what else to do. ”And makes s’mores with a lighter,” he suggests. 

Harry’s eyes grow big with disbelief. ”You can _do that?”_ he asks incredulously. 

”Of course.” Louis waves him off. ”With any fire. I fried sausages on candles when we had no power as a kid.”

_”What?”_

”Yeah, yeah. My 1800’s childhood.”

Harry laughs, slightly confused, or concerned. "Okay, now you're a vampire?"

"That's why I have such devastating good looks", Louis sniffs.

” _Or_ , actually, maybe you’re just a pyromaniac.”

Louis laughs again as Harry sneers widely. Both their hands at each others’ hips now. Just holding on. Never wanting to stop touching. 

”Yes, true, I crave the flame. That’s why I always carry one,” Louis says before successfully finding his pack in his breast pocket, popping a cigarette in his mouth. ”Why else, really? Seems pretty dim.”

He takes a step back to light his cigarette, then holds the turned out lighter out for Harry. Speaks with it muffling his words. 

”Got any marshmallows on you just now, by any chance? Should take that jacket off, so I can inspect.”

”You’re mental,” Harry agrees, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'))) one more chapter!


	4. The One When It Works Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello I recently watched a video comparing american and british english and me, a swedish person, found out sprinkles are called HUNDREDS AND THOUSANDS in england??? whether this is really honestly true, I thought it was adorable. I caught myself having written "sprinkles" in this chapter and just changed it. fun trivia! okay, let's move on.

Entering Liam’s apartment again is nothing short of uneventful. _School’s Out_ is playing, again - thank you Zayn with the phone connected to the speakers - and Niall greets him by the door, telling him excitedly about a cake Harry baked as a surprise, which according to him is now screaming for them, from the fridge, to be eaten. 

”Kinky,” Zayn comments over the music. 

”Kind of scary,” Liam snorts. 

”I’m innocent!” Niall defends. 

Louis turns to Harry, totally gobsmacked. Completely fucking _gobsmacked_. ”You made a fucking _cake?_ ”

Harry shrugs. ”What? Like it’s _hard?”_

Louis has heard him say this before once, only, that time, he didn’t instantly interpret it as an innuendo. He turns back to Niall and the kitchen to steady himself from falling apart. ” _Cake?_ ” he repeats, utterly astonished. Niall nods vigorously with big, anticipating eyes. 

Harry leaves Louis’ side and crosses the room to retrieve it. ”Yes, darling, close your mouth for now.”

Louis retrieves his chin from off the floor. He’s just amazed, because he can’t remember the last time anyone baked him anything. Ever? Maybe his mum, making scones and pies, but like, that was for the whole family. Surely he’s had a fair share of birthday cakes made too, but only until like, 12 years of age? Which was, way over 12 years ago?

Zayn is apparently bored of Alice Cooper already and changes to The Killers. Louis wildly gives him thumbs up and Zayn flips him off. 

”But how did the singing go?” Liam asks, emerging from a cupboard with plates to place on the table. 

”Yeah!” Niall suddenly seems to recall. ”Did you fuck it up?”

”Surprisingly, no,” Louis retorts, coming over to help lay out the spoons. ”Thanks for your faith in me. I’ll tell you lot about it, once we’re sat, I guess.”

He never really told anyone about his idea on what song to perform, or what it would mean for him, for them both. Was too scared someone would talk him out of it, make him regret such a risk. Now he’s wondering, into his reflection in one particular spoon, how the hell he’ll explain it fairly. 

That's too deep to be thinking into a spoon.

”Taa-daa,” Harry announces as he presents a big chocolate cake in front of Louis, very suddenly, and Liam makes excited hooting noises and Niall just sort of jumps around in joy and Zayn puts on _Mr. Brightside_. 

Louis stands still for once and with his hands clapped to the sides of his face as he just, takes in the whole experience. The cake is beautified with pink and purple hundreds and thousands or actual edible (he hopes) glitter, as well as white frosting for lettering, reading simply _Congratz teach ily_ with a few delicate hearts.

”I helped decorate!” Liam announces in more of a squeal than a statement. 

Louis doesn’t want to know with which part he helped. He won’t ruin the illusion of Harry carefully drawing out hearts just for him. 

”So we found this ancient gaming console in that box of yours you left here some time ago-”

”Oi! That’s my stuff you’re talking about. Not a _fossil_.”

”Right.” Liam doesn’t seem convinced. Louis is only _one year_ his senior. Ugh, _senior_. ”So anyway, we thought we’d try it out now. Want to stay around?”

”I have to prepare for a job interview,” Harry calls immediately from his bedroom, which he disappeared into moments before, after he had emerged steaming from the shower and crossed the room in a delicious lavender-scented mist. ”Sorry.”

Louis turns around from where he and Niall are huddled over the dishes to see Liam shrug. ”Good luck then, man. We love you and believe in you,” he says. ”Zayn?”

”Sure, I’ll stay,” Zayn replies, finding the perfect song in his endless playlist. 

”Cool, thank you. Niall?”

”Alright, count me in,” he says, shaking water and bubbles off his hands. 

”And Lou?”

He wants to reply. Only, Harry has just exited the bedroom in tight black jeans and a sheer black shirt. He can see his tattoos, the butterfly, the laurels. Oh, and after the laurels, he might as well skip over the rest and go straight to eyeing the silver boots, back to his face; so he doesn’t fall over and drown in dishwater. 

”I can’t,” he replies, absent-mindedly, trying hard to take his eyes off Harry’s devilishly smirking face. ”I have to, uh… do _laundry_ ,” he lies on the spot.

”Seriously?” Zayn deadpans. ”You don’t even comply by the rules of an apartment complex sharing a single, stinky washroom, you property-owning bourgeois prick.”

Louis blinks. "Oi." That's-? He shrugs his shoulder. ”Whatever. I’m out of my good shirts so I'm very sorry, lads. Not to you, Zayn.”

Liam sighs heavily. ”Alright, so if we find embarrassing stuff in your box, it’s your fault.”

Louis shakes the excess water and bubbles off his hands. ”Suit yourself. You’re welcome, by the way. I love doing charity work.”

Niall slaps him with a towel. Louis grabs it and drops it on his face. 

”Ready to go?” Harry asks him over Niall’s screech, crossing the room to the door. 

Louis can only nod and follow. He calls goodbye to everyone, and Zayn seems to try to magically bring him back by starting to play Catfish And The Bottlemen, but he’s already over the doorstep and waving farewell. 

Harry snaps at him as soon as the door closes behind him. ”So? My nickname is _laundry?_ ”

”Your nickname? That’s my _escape plan_ you’re insulting, love,” Louis snaps back jokingly. ”I thought that was quite clever.” 

Harry waves him off and they start walking down the stairs. ”It was, yes.”

”Sorry to say it’s not the first nickname I’d think of for you,” he adds with a grin. Then Louis furrows his brow. ”But then, you mean to say, if _you’re_ Laundry… I should rather be doing _you?_ ”

It’s quiet for a beat. Louis almost has time to regret it. ”I mean,” Harry starts. ”Preferably.”

Louis tucks his bottom lip into his mouth. He nods his head from side to side, as if contemplating. ”I suppose that can be arranged.” They reach the last step of the stairs when he suddenly turns to Harry. ”Wait! What about your job interview?”

”Louis.”

He takes a moment. ”Oh! Oh.” He has to laugh. ”Fuck. You’re just a dirty little liar, you.”

Harry bumps his hip into Louis’. Louis knocks his knuckles lightly on his arm in response. ”And what about your laundry, then?” Harry asks. 

”As dirty as you.” Harry laughs and Louis shakes his head, smirking. ”No, I’ve got none. And my house is good. Really. Want to come over and check it yourself to be sure?”

They enter the street and stop opposite each other. ”I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

”This means Yes in Alien?”

”Yes, it does.”

Louis smiles with such genuine happiness. ”Sick.” 

”And by the way, I already got the job.”

Louis nearly topples over right there on the pavement. ”You fucking _wha’?_ ” He stares, arms thrown out wide, but Harry just grins. ”You’re _fucking_ with me, mate? What the _fuck?_ What? Which one was it?”

”Chill out,” Harry patronises with a silly pat on his head. ”Which one, out of the like, _dozens_ that I went to? Yeah, something had to give.” 

”I do believe I asked a question.”

Harry shrugs. Then he brushes his hair glamorously over his shoulder. ”Say hello to the waiter of your favourite café,” he says seductively. 

Louis immediately has to hug him. ”No way! The fuck? _Harry!_ That’s _amazing.”_ He pulls back to look at him. ”I can visit you at work!”

”You can,” Harry chuckles into his hair when Louis pulls him back in, hugging him back tightly. ”Just don’t be distracting.”

”Oh, putting ideas in my head now, aren’t we?” He pulls back again, hands linked behind Harry’s back. 

Harry’s sort of chewing his bottom lip, though. Which is very much distracting already. ”There’s a lot of things that can be done in a backroom, I’m sure.”

Louis is a little stunned. And a lot turned on. He nods slowly. ”I guess we should practice and see.” 

”Then, what are we waiting for?” 

Louis grins. He shoves his hands into his pockets and elbows Harry’s arm before he starts walking. ”Let’s have at it, then. You remember which subway?”

It’s hot, hot, but the whirring of the pathetic little fan on the bedside table doesn’t drown out Harry’s whimpering sounds when he wraps his hand around him, lips on his neck, bodies slick together. Skin so warm and wet. 

His long hair is thrown over Louis’ pillow and back arched, like the most beautiful painting, really ought to be memorized in time with soft pencil strokes. Soft, unlike the nails on his back, or the hand occasionally tugging at Louis’ hair to make him moan against his neck in return. Jerking his hand quicker along his shaft. Oh, god. 

Nor does the whirring fan cover the beautiful noises of when Louis’ lips come wrapped around him, when Harry moans and gasps and bites his lip. His beautiful, strong thighs framing his face, covered in red marks from sucking or biting or the light burns from Louis’ stubble. How he closes them a little around his face, thighs quivering, hand tightly curled in his hair to keep him close. 

He plays every card in his deck. And then every ace up his sleeve. He never wants to stop Harry from feeling so good he’s just panting, shivering, legs wrapped around Louis where he lay, sucks and licks. One hand gripping the outside of those thighs he loves, the other one busying itself elsewhere. 

Louis is nothing short of angry at his own _biology_ when he comes too soon into his own hand and while grinding against his own sheets, only to realise, it’s not just him; Harry tries to say something, it cuts off, then the way his hips buck up, lips wet and open. It makes Louis instantly think he might just be getting hard again. _Fuck_. 

He swallows, continues to gratefully lick and then kiss his thighs, cherishing them, as the anger dissolves into even more hot arousal. 

Knowing he made Harry do it, relishing in how he made all these sounds and reactions come out of him; _he’s_ why he’s got an arm thrown over his eyes and why his red-bitten lips are parted, catching his breath as Louis licks up his shaft one last time, just to fuck with him. 

They collapse together on the bed sheets, which are tossed around or wrapped around them, laughing breathlessly. He’s never quite been so happy. Blinds drawn, bedroom dark, all alone in their own world. 

”Again?” Louis suggests on a breath out. 

Harry has already rolled over on top of him and is kissing him hard against Louis’ fond chuckle. 

”I know this is very crazy forward, so, stop me if it’s just _too_ crazy.” Louis throws a t-shirt over his head, perched on the edge of the bed and turned to the wall as Harry dresses behind him as well, bed shifting underneath him. ”I was thinking, how your ex argued about keeping Milton.”

”Don’t remind me,” Harry grumbles immediately. ”I haven’t seen my baby in months. Mum is just texting me the pics Alex posts on social media.”

”I’m sorry,” Louis adds in a murmur, getting up in search for some acceptable joggers. ”Hey, you want something more comfortable? That shirt you came in was so hot it should be a crime. Wouldn’t want to risk you getting arrested, eh?”

Harry chuckles. ”It’s fine.” Louis sneaks a glance over his shoulder and sees him already buttoning up the pretty, pretty shirt again. ”Um, why’d you think about Milton just now?”

”Well, it’s just. This house is pretty big.” Louis stops to look around, joggers in hand. Even the bedroom feels too big, full of the ghosts of old memories. His first this and that, his hundredth and thousandth. He still loves the house, was the one who suggested they settle for it, to settle down in together, about three years ago when he still thought he was in love. 

The kitchen is englassed, sun coming up on that side to have breakfast basking in warmth; his plan to read the newspaper every morning like an intellectual had quickly died for favour of just warming his face and getting all the more tiny freckles. Glass table and white wooden chairs. Counters white with black marble. He took the coffee maker; Louis goes to Liam and Niall for a cup now. The lounge was large before and now just feels vacant, TV gone, lots of their books too and the ancient DVDs, some CDs and other bits although a small fraction of those are in the box at Liam’s still. 

Even playing his guitar used to make the rooms feel more alive, and less as if someone died, but he figures it does well at Liam’s for now, too. For as long as that feels more like home than his own actual house does. 

Has two bathrooms too, which is cool. A reading nook in the window in the hall upstairs. Also a spare room, now, that used to be Michael’s office and hobby room; unsurprisingly was where he’d disappear into to take phone calls, rushing with a smile after claiming it was work, although Louis saw several times the name of his now-girlfriend flashing up on the display. Like when Louis would wake up in the middle of the night to the blue light of the iPhone under the covers; _What are you doing?_ and the _Just checking the time, darling, go back to sleep._

He loves his house. He just needs to kill the old memories seeping into the walls, the ones haunting it. Needs to replace them with good ones. 

”It has a garden too,” Louis continues. ”My white picket-fence dream. Went to shit, but well. I was thinking-”

”Louis?”

Louis turns halfway around. ”Yes?”

He should probably put his joggers on. 

”Are you saying Milton should live here with you?”

He starts balancing to put his leg into them, flustered. ”Well, yes! And you can come visit, sometimes, I mean if you call a few days in advance— Nah. Only kidding.” He successfully pulls them up and turns around. ”You could live here too, you know.”

Harry looks stunned. He furrows his brow. _”Really?”_

”I mean,” Louis throws his arms out. ”Look at the size of this! I’m fucking _lonely_ , I mean why do you think I come to you lot so often? Well, I also desire morning coffee, kind of don't have anything here for it anymore. And I also like Liam and I _really_ like you. But I’m just like a lonely and bitter old _ghost_ in this house and it’s just too big to be in all alone.” He stops for a beat to consider himself, as well as Harry’s expression. ”I even have a spare room, if I really do sound too crazy right now. It could be nice with a wee paint job.”

Harry gapes a little, so that Louis can’t tell if he’s uncertain or amazed. It makes Louis cold with uncertainty himself. 

”I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he rushes to add. ”Please stop me.”

”No,” Harry assures him quickly, shaking his head with a furrowed brow. ”I’m just, wow. Just thinking.”

”I mean, I could also get a cat of my own. Or a dog. But I know it’s better to adopt and I hear you have one in need of his forever home. Or. Temporary. That’s his choice, of course, I wouldn’t want to intrude on his own free will.”

”You’re rambling,” Harry points out gently.

”Yeah,” Louis agrees, nodding. ”Yeah. I’m a _mess.”_

”No,” Harry promises, smiling. ”Well, _yes._ But it’s all good. You’re sweet. You’re very, very sweet and kind.”

Louis breathes an audible sigh of relief. He rocks on his heels. ”Well then,” he clears his throat, ”that was quite a lot to drop on you at once. I’m sorry, really. You don’t have to answer now, of course, or at all.”

He motions towards the door of the bedroom as he walks backwards. Harry’s smile doesn’t fade as he moves to follow him.

”I do want to,” he tells him once he's come up to him, and Louis’ heart skips a beat. ”I’d love to. Just wondering, what do I tell _Liam?”_

Louis smiles. So big. ”You’re too nice,” he says, kind of like a sigh, and plants a kiss on his cheek. ”Fuck, you _scared_ me there. Are you sure? You really want to?”

”Of course,” Harry says almost defensively, smiles back. He intertwines their hands. Louis never wants to let him go. ”And not just for Milton. Or for a house. But for you.”

Louis’ eyes may look comically large. ”Serious? I thought you’d think I was a creep.”

”Louis, I fucking _love_ you.”

That shuts Louis up. 

Harry barks a laugh, not seeming even half as shocked himself. ”Come on! You offer me a place with my favourite person, what do you expect of me to say?” 

” _Favourite_ person?”

Harry tilts his head, like bitch, _please_.

Louis realises his defeat. ”Alright.” And now with the excitement. He pulls Harry close by his hand, places a hand on the small of his back. ”My god, I fucking love you too.”

Harry smiles, kisses him again. And some more. ” _Thank you_ , for all this.”

”Anything for my favourite,” Louis murmurs and kisses his nose. 

Harry giggles and pulls back, smiling widely at each other. Oh my god, Louis is so elated, imagining the house with Harry in it. The warmth it will bring. The liveliness. He can’t believe it; he’s the luckiest person. He lucked the _fuck_ out. 

They start walking hand in hand down the stairs, Louis still so happy, feeling like he could start skipping, just _naturally_. Like happiness will honestly just be his _natural_ state of being now. The fuck? 

”I have just _one_ question,” Harry starts once they’re about to walk out of the front door. 

”Anything, my love.”

”Do I have to fuck for rent?”

Louis laughs, hearty and true. ”Honey, you’re _already_ fucking the owner. You don’t have to pay a _pound._ ”

”Do you think Zayn is seeing someone?”

Louis sips his tea with a furrowed brow, peeking at Liam above the porcelain. ”Uh, I don’t know.” He puts the steaming cup on the table. ”Is this a trick question? Is it _you?_ ”

”No.” Liam leans back in their favourite sofa of choice in the downstairs café, looking rather resigned. ”It’s weird, I guess.”

”That it’s _not_ you?”

Liam grimaces a little. ”Well, or that maybe I thought... it _could_ be. I guess.”

Louis blinks. Blink, blink. ”Are you catching _feelings_ , Payno?” When Liam doesn’t reply, Louis gapes. ”My _god_ , lad. That’s some dangerous territory!”

”Don’t say it so loudly, then?” Liam warns in a hushed voice, scooting closer again to keep their conversation low. Harry’s somewhere within their close ratio, working his pretty little butt in an apron, so he best not be disturbed. ”I don’t really mean that. Or maybe I do. Or no. Well.”

”I got it, Liam, do continue.”

”Well, listen. It’s not that weird. I kind of just, expected him to stay single?” He furrows his brow more. ”Or he can do what he wants, but. I thought we’d keep like hooking up and stuff. I mean.” He cuts himself off and looks quickly at Louis with alarming _gay panic_. ”We haven’t told you this, have we? Oh no. No, _I didn’t say anything,_ you didn’t hear it, _shit.”_

”Your secret is safe.” Louis pats him good-naturedly on the shoulder to console Liam’s inner crisis. He tilts his head from side to side, drops his voice to a murmur. ”We kind of figured.”

”You _did?_ ” Liam gapes, almost _annoyed_ at the fact. 

”You _do_ realise the second time I ever met him he was _sucking you off_ under the table? He’s a deity, _of course_ you adore him.”

Liam grumbles incoherently. Louis takes another sip of tea, casually. 

”I just wonder,” Liam says to the table. ”Because he disappears sometimes, seems happy— I mean, he should. I’m _happy_ he’s happy.”

”Right.”

”Right, but he didn’t _use to_ before, when he would take people home, and that’s just the _thing_. Like I was fine with that, I did it too. It just got me thinking. That he found someone. And they must be better than me.”

”Liam, let me just run it all by you again. You’re aware you and Zayn aren’t a couple? Wait, okay, let me get this straight- or gay. How many times did you hook up?”

”Uh, that’s a bit? Personal?” Liam says uncomfortably. Louis just looks at him so that he eventually rolls his eyes. ”Like on average? Once a week maybe.”

”Wow, damn. No way?”

”What? Too much? Too little?”

”Nah, just surprised you managed. Sneaking around like that, I mean, with Harry living at yours now.”

Liam blushes just a little. ”Zayn has an apartment too, you know. And there’s inventions, like, _laundry rooms.”_

”Alright, alright, keep it in your pants.” Louis waves him off as Liam’s face grows gradually more pink. ”Okay, next off. You’re aware Zayn hasn’t had a relationship all these three or something years we’ve known him and never expressed the desire for it even once?”

”Uh, yes. So what? _We_ could have been dating this whole time, maybe I just, missed it.”

”I think you’d be aware if you were dating.”

Liam furrows his brow, nearly offended. ”How can I know?”

Harry appears then, smiling bravely at them both as he carries an order of mixed beverages on a tray across the room. Their conversation hits pause as they follow him with their gazes (Louis giving him thumbs up because he’s already used his daily dose of cheesiness with the kiss he threw last time they caught his busy eye), until he disappears through the drapes into the backroom again. 

”So?” Liam pushes. 

”Alright, chill out. Let’s look at the statistics then. Did he ever _refer_ to you as his _boyfriend?”_

”No?”

Louis knocks his knuckles gently on the side of his head. ”There you go, babes. Sorry to break it to you.”

Liam swats his hand away and sinks back into the sofa with his arms crossed on his chest. Sulks a little, pouts a lot. Louis’ heart melts for him, really. 

”Aw, Payno. You just need to talk to him.” He pats his shoulder once again just for good measure. Liam shrugs it off. ”Well, if it makes you feel any better I haven’t noticed a difference at all. Maybe it’s all in your head.”

”Thanks a lot, I really love being called mentally unstable.”

”Whatever. You’re just fragile.” Louis takes his cup again. ”Did you have any suspects then?”

”Hm, no. Kind of ideas. Remember that night Niall came home with a drink down his chest?”

”Yes?” Louis _very_ well, _all_ too well recalls the night his and Harry’s first kiss was disturbed by an angry Niall demanding ice cream after what seemed to be a very failed date, given the red drink down his torso. ”What, you didn’t go together? With Zayn? I thought for sure you had," he adds, remembering they came home together at the end of it all.

”No,” Liam says slowly, thoughtfully. ”Oh yeah. I met him on the way up.”

”And then, you mean, with _Niall’s shirt?”_ Louis is scandalised. ”You don’t think-? You don’t think Zayn would drink _that?_ ”

Liam slaps his arm. ”Well who knows? Or maybe Niall did. He might have spilled it on himself. Like, _drooled.”_

Louis nods intelligently at that. ”Yes, actually, that would be more understandable.” Zayn _is_ a deity. Hard to look at for too long.

Liam shrugs again and starts picking at his blueberry muffin. Louis suddenly feels a pang of guilt. Here he goes, opening his heart about his concerns, and Louis hasn’t even told anyone how he and Harry… _you know._

He’s not sure how to say it, is all. Even though Zayn and Liam are seeing each other naked on the weekly, as he’s _kindly_ just found out, it’s just normal like that. It’s how he always knew it to be since the first time he had an actual introduction to Zayn into their joint lives. Niall is a bit weird to try and work into that equation, but well, he’ll keep open-minded. 

Louis is Liam’s childhood friend though, and so is Harry. Louis feels jittery even imagining how bad he could make this whole thing. 

”So listen, you’ve been honest with me,” he starts, and it’s a good start. ”We’ve got to be honest with you.”

”We?” Liam questions, taking a bite of his muffin. 

”Yeah, me and Harry. Well, since he’s not here right now, I might just start with meself.” He clears his throat. ”Right, here goes.”

”Louis,” Liam interjects abruptly, ”my dear, you _do_ realise he already told me about everything about you two? And I _know_ that you hooked up?”

Louis immediately grabs the closest cushion and aims it at his face. He misses, gets a glare from Harry peeking his head out from the drapes and a very entertaining squeal and a duck into the sofa from Liam. So, he grabs the second closest one and tries again. 

And once again Louis finds himself helping Harry move boxes, only this time, he gets to stop and kiss him or the other way around whenever they like. Going shopping too, together, wandering through the maze of Ikea like an old married couple and Louis just feels _so happy_ , Harry’s hand in his. 

Harry demands a new mattress, for starters, because Louis’ is apparently too squeaky, which Louis thinks adds incredible _sex appeal_ but which Harry just thinks makes incredibly _bad noise_. And oh yes, because they’ll share now; they’ll go to sleep together and wake up together, if they want to can even brush their teeth and have breakfast together. (The possibilities are all too exciting, sometimes to the point Louis can just start smiling out of nowhere imagining it all, in the space of time when they're still planning the move, having some sleepovers to be sure nobody sleeptalks or something and they actually _can_ tolerate each other as much as they can in daytime). Harry had instantly blatantly refused to take the spare room for his own, anyway. Said instead to make it into something they both can enjoy, _or_ , why not a room devoted entirely to Milton?

So. Cat stuff. 

Louis has never had one, but Harry’s expertise guides him through the pet shop and has him leaving with a ridiculously expensive bag of food and some mixed treats, matching black food and water bowl to go in their ( _their!_ ) kitchen, with a handful of toys, as in, _all four_ of their _combined_ hands, all dropped into the shopping bag. And _then_ they have to come back in to join forces to carry The Big Scratchy Castle, as Louis names it, to the car they’ve borrowed off Niall. It’s like, this, _huge_ thing of _poles_ and _sitting areas_ and square _nests_. Harry claims Milton _absolutely needs it_ for his claw health and for a place to nap in. Louis thinks there’s a chance he’s just a little bit spoiled and yet, he doesn't mind it at all.

And when a shining black BMW pulls up to their house one day, Louis wouldn’t have been too surprised if it was the cat’s personal driver that is the man who steps out from the driver’s seat. However he can also accept it might just be someone Harry’s ex sent off. Whatever. Be _more_ dramatic, willya?

It’s a tall, serious-looking guy who takes out a little plastic crate with slits for air from the backseat, walks up and puts it on the steps to their house, not a word spoken before he turns back. Harry’s stood waiting for him on the doorstep, jumps up and down and cries and smiles and laughs and cries some more. 

Louis holds the door open as Harry carries the crate inside and puts it down on the middle of the floor. He kneels down in front of its little door, biting his lip to contain his excitement, Louis stood behind him and biting his thumb for the very same reason. 

Slowly, slowly Harry’s tentative hands open the crate and out peeks Milton, grey with a white dot under his chin, white markings up his legs like he’s wearing booties. His huge, yellow eyes take in the room, a little frightened. Before he sees Harry. 

He meows, and it’s just like he’s saying, _mummy?_

Louis falls in love. 

Tears are still streaming down Harry’s face, tears of joy and excitement, when he reaches his arms out to welcome Milton into them. ”Hi, my baby!” he squeals, and Louis realises his own eyes are welling up too. ”It’s been so long, darling. I missed you so, so much.”

Milton walks up into Harry’s lap and Harry strokes over his back, scratches his head and his chin. Milton arches his back into the touch and purrs between meows of what seem to be excitement, recognition. Tiny feet tapping along like he doesn’t know what to make of all his happiness. 

”Yes, yes, I missed you so much, my beautiful boy. I didn’t forget you, of course not, I missed you everyday. I had to get you back somehow.”

Milton is walking circles around in his lap, stopping sometimes like he’s kneading dough then taking another spin. He’s excitedly meowing back, seemingly like he’s trying to reply. 

”He missed you too,” Louis husks, wiping at tears rolling down his cheek. ”Yeah, I’m the cat whisperer now. He fucking _loves_ you, Harry.”

Harry nods vigorously, hair fallen in his eyes swept back by a slightly trembling hand. ”Yeah,” he whispers, sniffs. His eyes are extra green from crying and his cheeks extra pink, not much unlike that time a few months ago when Louis met the love of his life for the first time in ten years; only now it’s not tears for a lost future, but for anticipating a brighter one. Knowing they’ll have one together, so happily. ”I think that’s what he’s saying too.”

Louis kneels down on the lounge’s rug in one swift motion, takes Harry’s face in his hands and kisses him. Harry breaks away with a laugh and Louis ruffles those curls he loves so much. 

Then he kisses Milton too, right on top of his little fuzzy head, just because it makes Harry giggle. Milton looks at him with huge, confused eyes. 

”Now he’s saying _who the fuck are you, human?_ ” Louis informs Harry, scratching Milton behind the ear as he sniffs his wrist suspiciously. 

”No,” Harry laughs, kissing Louis’ cheek. ”He’s like, oh cool, you’re my daddy too? He has two dads now.”

Louis barks a laugh, petting down Milton and getting a content purr in response, which is a success. ”Damn lucky kid”, he muses, grinning. 

”Your housewarming gift, from me to you, shall be pizza.”

Those were the holy words of Liam when Louis had spoken to him on the phone earlier in the day. Louis had really seen the light then. 

He’d come home from work first, still showering when Zayn had sauntered in, flipping through their joint vinyl collection when Louis had exited with a towel around his waist and a curse flying out of his mouth. ( _”Oopsie daisy. You should lock the door if you don’t want guests, bruv. Or maybe like, not invite them to a housewarming party, but I’m no expert am I.”_ )

Niall joins with snacks in bags dangling from his arms moments later, had pulled up in his car in a flourish Louis could witness when throwing on a t-shirt in the upstairs bedroom. Niall was quite too fancy for the underground life; both him and his salmon-coloured suit. 

”Here’s your housewarming gift,” Niall announces as he walks in and Louis jogs down the stairs, presenting a bottle of champagne for him from one of the bags as well. 

”Niall, I’ve lived here for three years.”

Niall doesn’t give him the bottle after that, only locates the kitchen cabinets and pours himself a glass. ”For Harry then, you greedy fuck.”

Louis kindly gives him the finger. He rummages the bags still hanging off Niall’s arm and wrestles out bags of crisps, all while Niall comically tries to hold the bottle steady. 

”Nice day at work, darling?” Louis chirps and finds some bowls that came with Harry’s other random kitchen utilities. Milton swirls around them on the kitchen counter on his hunt for something edible for himself and Zayn pets him on his little head. 

”Quite so, dear boy,” Niall croaks and downs his glass like a shot. 

Harry arrives next from work; not with a portfolio or with a heap of homework like Louis tends to do, but with a paper bag reading _Adidas_. Which is very peculiar when Louis fucking _loves_ Adidas. 

Louis greets him at the door with a tight embrace, because my god, now that he can’t just show up at Liam’s place on a whim to see him whenever - because he was always at home - he really has come to _miss him_ during the days. 

”You tired?” Louis asks him, smelling a distinct mix of coffee as he noses around in his hair. Being a barista is tough work, he knows himself from scraping life together while he was still studying.

”Not as bad as it could be,” Harry muses, pulls apart to notice Louis eyeing the bag. He smiles and holds it up. ”For you, my baby”.

Louis’ heart grows three sizes. ” _Really?_ No way.” He takes it and weighs it in his hand. ”What’s this?”

”Open it, you idiot,” Zayn jeers, walking close to study its contents with Niall in tow. 

Louis gives him a glare over his shoulder before he pulls the white trainers out of the bag. They’re not totally unlike the ones he occasionally wears - if not 100% more pristine and completely shining white - but the real difference is the shoelaces. _Rainbow_ , bright and bold. 

”My god, Harry,” Louis murmurs, staring at them, all the vibrant colours. Happy and proud. ”That’s beautiful.”

Harry shrugs a shoulder. ”I know.” He comes over and kisses the top of his head. (Yeah, he’s a great gift-giver and _tall_ too, the shit.) ”Having money is fun.”

”Sure is.” Niall raises his glass. 

”Okay, Leonardo Dicaprio in Wolf On Wall Street, _calm down,”_ Louis retorts over his shoulder very sarcastically. He turns back to Harry with a softer face, softer voice. ”Thank you, my darling. This is amazing.”

”Don’t mind it,” Harry murmurs. ”I hope you like them. I’ll nip in the shower, my love, I’ll be right back.” 

He walks away swiftly, and Louis turns back to the trainers. Milton comes over to check them out too and Louis strokes him over the back. He already can’t wait to go out with these. ”Fucking sick, innit?”

”I like these,” Niall comments.

”I want to buy cool shoes too,” Zayn whines uncharacteristically with a pout, looking down at his beat-up red Converse. 

”But yours are more punk rock,” Louis acknowledges curtly.

”But maybe I want the _option_.” He gently kicks the dining table, like a toddler. ”Rent is high. Adulting is hard.”

Louis snorts, shaking his head. ”Right, okay. Make a complaint to your _sugar daddy_ then.”

”We went on _one_ date,” Niall shrieks suddenly. 

Wait. 

Zayn is scandalised. Louis is only humoured. 

_Oh no, Niall._

Niall, in turn, is turning slightly red. _”I’m-”_

”Ah,” Louis says slowly, eyebrows raised. He looks between the two. ” _Now_ it makes sense.”

Niall looks around, stricken with panic over the slip up. ”Uh. We just-”

”No, no. I get it.” Louis leans back against the wall. ”So, you decided to _try it out_ after all, being with a bloke? I see. That’s cool. Admirable.” He remembers their first night back with Harry, clear as day. Conversations just made up for fun, sharing some wine, dick jokes galore. Although it maybe planted a seed of _thought_ in them all, after all. 

”It was _one time_ ,” Zayn interjects tiredly, repeating Niall. 

”I don’t judge your taste in men, Zayn. Although it _is_ questionable.” He doesn’t let Niall retort before he continues, directed at him. ”And then, you bought old Zayn the wrong drink, was it? That red bollocks you showed up covered in, or I mean, did he not throw it at you?”

”He spilled it on himself,” Zayn corrects.

”And _he _left,” Niall fills in, glaring accusingly.__

____

____

”Mm,” Louis muses, feeling very cheeky now. ”I see, yeah, makes sense.” He shakes his head to Zayn, motions at Niall, voice hushed. ”What is _wrong_ with straight people?”

”Beats me,” Zayn murmurs. 

” _Hey!_ ”

”We figured as much anyway,” Louis continues, ignoring him, ”or, that it was the silly mechanism of _drooling_ , possibly. Too fit for the eye the straight guy, were you, Zaynie?” 

Louis makes a pause as Zayn narrows his eyes at him in a challenging way. 

”Yeah so, _we_ , as in me and Liam,” Louis continues. ”Yes, he adores you, Zaynie, don’t look so shocked. Please _do_ consider talking to him about it.”

Zayn is touching his bottom lip and looking out the window. Thoughtful or whatever else, Louis doesn’t know. He shrugs easily. He’s been the meddler he aimed to be now, had some fun while he was at it too. And Liam is soon to arrive outside that very window any moment with his order of pizza anyway, so, only time will tell how well he did. 

”What the fuck, honestly,” Niall grumbles and pours himself another glass. 

”Now, Mr. Styles,” Louis muses, pressing start on the dishwasher after a quick cleaning of the room at the end of the night, clapping his hands together like brushing off dust, ”don’t mind me saying, but I think we’re busy for now.”

Harry’s leaning back against the dining table when he turns to him, an eyebrow raised and his pretty lips smirking. ”Hm?”

Louis saunters up towards him, hands coming to rest on his hips. ”Pardon my French, but I believe we ought to fuck away 10 years of bad luck.” He nods solemnly. ”It’s a responsibility of ours, you see.”

Harry drapes his hands around his shoulders. ”That so, Mr. Tomlinson?”

”Oh yes, yes. Reliable sources tell me so.”

”And are these sources, _you?_ ”

”As a matter of fact, yes, yes they are indeed.”

Harry chuckles, peering out into the lounge. ”Easy, tiger. Don’t think our guests are all packed up yet.”

Right, this is true. Liam and Zayn kind of needed to have a heartfelt discussion, one which included them figuring out Liam’s paranoia about Zayn’s happiness was, in fact, a happiness dedicated to Liam’s very presence. Also realising that maybe they do like each other more than just being friends with great benefits. Also Niall making gagging noises in the background. 

Now they’re still visible through the large lounge windows looking into the backyard, Liam and Zayn; pale wreaths of smoke from Zayn’s cigarette, smiling and talking. A kiss. Oh, and another. 

Louis instantly feels a little lonely and gently turns Harry’s head back to himself and kisses his lips. 

”Oh, thanks,” Harry smiles, curling his hands into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

”It’s a privilege of mine, actually,” Louis informs him, and kisses him once more. 

Niall decides to walk into the room just then. ”Well, I’m ready to go,” he says with a half-empty bag of crisps in his hand. ”Fuck sake, not you too?”

”Sorry,” Harry says and wrinkles his nose guiltily. 

”If you’re jealous you can always join,” Louis retorts and kisses Harry’s nose. 

Niall holds his palm up. ”I’ll pass. And, I’m ready to go. So I’m going.”

Louis picks up a bag of popcorn and passes it to him. ”Here you go, one for the road. You brave soldier, you.”

Niall accepts it very gratefully and holds it up. ”I’ll cherish this, thank you. Bye for now. Bye, Harry.”

They break apart only to go and see Niall out. As for Zayn and Liam, well, they don’t seem nearly done and besides, they know where the front door is. 

So Harry grabs Louis’ hand as they stumble giggling up the stairs into the bedroom. 

The new bed doesn't creak; Louis knows this, yet still somehow tries to make it so.

Harry's legs are wrapped around him, head thrown back and moaning as Louis thrusts into him, rocking the bed. Louis' one hand is curled around the bedframe in front of him, knuckles white, the other on the bed as Harry's own two hands go between grabbing a fistfull of the sheets or clawing down his back between pleads of _faster_ or just _yes_. Just _yes_. It's the one thought basically circling Louis' mind just as well, don't know what unintelligible noise would even escape if he _tried_ to speak.

"Fuck, you're so fucking hot." Maybe _that_. Maybe some moans and whimpers of his own as Harry rocks beautifully beneath him. "Fuck. Wanna be on top, baby?"

Harry whines and covers his face with his hands. Okay, so _no_ then. Louis chuckles breathlessly, bends down and kisses Harry's neck, which makes him gasp instead and wrap his arms around him. 

"Just checking," Louis murmurs, working up his pace again. Harry's hard cock is brushing between them, which Harry is very much more aware of than Louis even is himself, hitching on his breath. "You'd look beautiful. You already do. You're so fucking beautiful."

Leaning on one arm now, Louis seizes the moment to grab Harry, wet and hard between their bodies. His head wrenches to the side into the pillow, pink lips open and wet, eyes shut tightly. Louis jerks his hand, mouth coming to brush against his neck again, continuing to whisper and praise and just say whatever the fuck he even can. This is all he's ever dreamed of. This is all he'll ever want.

"Yeah, that's right. That's good." He jerks his hand, might be sloppy work with the efforts of his thrusts but _fuck_ , it doesn't matter. He's so blissed out it should be a crime. "So beautiful. You can come, darling. I want you to."

"Oh _please_ ," Harry rasps, rocking his hips, biting his knuckle. "I want it, I want to."

And everytime he rocks his hips just _so_ , a new wave of pleasure washes up over Louis, never once letting him forget just how much he wants him, will never ever let him want anyone else as badly as this. Judging by Harry's current state, he's really no better off himself.

Louis kisses his neck again and keeps his lips there, starts sucking. _Hard_ as he takes in a sharp breath through his nose, wildly searching to leave a mark. Like he's _his_. Harry nuzzles his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, and it's like proper magic when his body goes locking up, and then he comes, and comes, and comes, spilling over Louis' hand as he keeps jerking him off, all through the aftershocks. Harry’s gripping the sheets with the last of his strength when Louis slides off him.

Catching his breath beside him, Louis kisses him gently, neck and torso. All the sore marks he's left. "Aw, poor darling", he coos, brushing his thumb over one of them, kind of amazed with how that shit even works. What an artwork.

He brushes his thumb further until he catches his nipple, and Harry slaps his hand away weakly. "Piss off", he murmurs through a smile.

"And, this means _I love you_ in Alien?" Louis asks, batting his eyelashes.

Harry grins and puts his hand right over Louis' face. "Yes." He removes his hand only to kiss him. Then he puts it back. "But accents vary. Sometimes it means, you're a fucking fool, Louis Tomlinson."

Louis smiles fondly. "Hey," he says, muffled into Harry's hand, sees him smiling at him through his fingers. "I'll take it."

”By the way,” Harry says into the ceiling, one night in the dim light. ”I don’t like when you call me Mr. Styles very much, me." 

Louis furrows his brow. He's still catching his breath slightly after trying to make the bed creak again, even though it's now a little over a year old. "Oh?" 

"No," Harry continues, but doesn't seem hurt or offended or anything like that at all. "I think we should, uh, we should just settle for being _Tomlinsons_.”

Louis gets a little surprised; as it goes, he keeps being surprised at quite how happy he can get. But this, this is _everything_. 

It’s been this way for a year now, and he’s still not used to it, still getting all them happy thrills and butterflies. A life with Harry, and with Milton the cat. Now also with the kitten they adopted last month from the shelter, Crumpet the cat (Louis christened him so), lightly beige coloured unlike his grey big brother.

In this life they live together in his dream home, creating it into the home of Harry's dreams just as well. They wake up together. They come home after a hard day, to comfort, to a warm embrace. 

And they love each other. And maybe, by the sounds of it, they’ll soon get to say it aloud, what Louis thinks they’re both thinking; how they’ll love each other forevermore, with rings to bind the promise. 

So Louis smiles, grabs for his hand on the sheets. Intertwines their fingers and feels his pulse beat with the rhythm of his own, ridiculously happy, heart. 

”Yeah,” he replies softly, ”I think I’d quite like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO idk what to say but YAY! I've mentioned a few songs, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but one that I've been singing throughout without mentioning is Me & you together song by the 1975, which is veeery cute and I recommend it. But another one is time machine by COIN and it accidentally sounds like it should go with this fic? Which I didn't realise until writing like the very end of it so? That was fun to hear. Thank you for reading!!!


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